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THE 



MODERN DUNCIAD, 

A SATIRE; 

WITH 

NOTES, BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL. 



" Out with it, Dunciad ! let the secret pass, 
" That secret to each fool, that he's an ass." 

f Pope, 



FOURTH EDITION, 
CORRECTED AND ENLARGED. 



LONDON: 

PRINTED FOR EFFINGHAM WILSON, ROYAL EXCHANGE; 
AND JOHN RODWELL, NEW BOND STREET. 



1816. 






W. Wilson, Printer, 4, Greville-Street, London. 



PREFACE. 

ANOTHER Edition of the Modern Dunciad 
has been called for by the public ; its heroes have 
become notorious when they least expected it> and 
they may now> like the Goddess Calypso * 5 mourn 
their immortality. 

It has been said that to ridicule a tribe of ob- 
scure scribblers is an unworthy employment for the 
legitimate satirist f : but did not Horace and Ju- 

* Elle se trouvoit malheureuse d'etre immortelle. 

Telemachus. 



•f* This secerns to be the opinion of the British Critic, the Critical 
Review, and the Universal Magazine ; no very great authorities 
to be sure, but it may be amusing to the reader to peruse their 
remarks. 

" Our satirist appears to be well acquainted with the lower tribe 
" of authorlings, and has brought to light many illustrious names, 



IV PREFACE, 

venal proscribe the bad writers of Rome ? Dry- 
den, Pope, and Boileau, are never so completely 

" who, but for the aid of so kind a chronicler, might have passed 
" the oblivious stream. There is sometimes a legitimate and manly 
tc severity which does credit to the author: that he has much talent 
" we readily allow; but if he would command attention, he must 
" follow highej' game. There is an elegance, vivacity, and point in 
" his couplets which are worthy of a superior w-ork." 

British Critic. 

" This satire is, certainly, written by a scholar and a poet ; but, 
Xi in proportion as we admire the author's talents, we are disgusted 
** with his abuse of them. Shall the lovers of satire, pointed by 
" raillery, by ridicule, or by wit, smile at the dart ignobly levelled 
"at such lords as Yarmouth* and Hawke; at such miscreants as 
tt *#***** ? (the reader is referred to the Critical Review, where 
" he may see the names of these worthies at full length) and a 
" long catalogue of reptiles?" 

Critical Review. 

" We rather regret this barren vulgarity of topic, because we 
« think the author capable of writing with effect upon higher sub- 
" jects, and surely higher might easily have been found. Whatever 
" gratification may be felt in reading a lampoon upon the <dggs 9 the 



PREFACE. V 

successful as when they are satirising vanity and 
dulness : with such illustrious examples before me, 
am I not then fully justified in opposing the dunces 
of the present age, to those of the past ? When 
Pope celebrates a Dennis, an Oldmiocon, or a Curl; 
I shall introduce a Manners, a Pasquin, or a Cob- 
bett ; the malignity, the dulness, and the impu- 
dence of one party, will do well to confront the vul- 
garity, the stupidity, and the shamelessness of the 
other. 

But all my dunces are not obscure ; there are 
many, whose language and sentiments have had 
considerable influence in the present day, to the 
almost total destruction of public taste and of pub- 
lic morals : such characters I have not spared, 
while those, whose writings only tire our patience 



" Laura Matildas, the Arnolds and Pasqui?is to-day, none can 
r arise from recurring to it to-morrow: their names and their works 
f are alike forgotten; and he who rakes up a dunghill to enjoy the 
W smell, can hardly expect to have much company about him." 

Universal Magazine- 



VI PREFACE. 

without corrupting our principles, who are good 
citizens though bad poets, are dismissed with a 
slight rebuke : I only lament that they did not take 
the judicious advice of the French satirist. — 

" Soyez plutol macon, si c'est votre talent, 

" Ouvrier estime dans un art necessaire, 

" Qu' ecrivain du commun, et poete vulgaire" 

But it appears that I have been guilty of a mis- 
nomer, in calling Mr. Hewson Clarke a gentleman — 
this, I trust the good-natured reader will attribute to 
inadvertency, for I am well convinced that of all 
men living, Mr. Clarke is the least entitled to that 
appellation. It was never my intention to insinuate 
that he was a gentleman, in the common accepta- 
tion of the term, but merely a Gentleman of the 
Dunciad. 

That a partial outcry would be raised against this 
Poem, was but a reasonable conclusion ; therefore 
much of the abuse that has been lavished upon me, 
as the author, has been duly anticipated. I must, 



PREFACE. VU 

however, apologise for introducing the editors of the 
Monthly * and the Antijacojbin Reviews f into 

* M Gossip Report, who is sometimes correct and very often erro- 
" neous authority, has attributed this poem to the author of the 
" Pursuits of Literature; and, admitting spirited and poignant 
" satire to be an evidence of such an assignment, we have more rear 
" son for crediting than for disbelieving the rumour. Certain it is, 
" that traces of no common talent appear in every page ; and that 
" this modern Pope, whoever he be, has produced a Dunciad, which 
" the stinging bard of Twickenham would not be ashamed to own, 
" The bard spares neither poet nor courtier; and in the office of a 
" satirist, he speaks with the boldness of Juvenal. All however 
u is not satire — he freely praises as well as freely censures." 

" We were sorry occasionally to meet with some inadmissible 
" rhymes in this otherwise finished performance, such as ' applaud,' 
" c lord,' * morn,' * yawn :' but the high tone, noble spirit, and 
" true satiric energy of the whole, compensate for such little defects. 
" We are throughout reminded of the undaunted Muse ofTwicken- 
" ham — Truth, indeed, does prevail : but truth is called a libel by 
" those whom it wounds" 

Monthly Review. 



-f* The Antijacobin Review devotes twenty pages to the examina^ 
tion of this poem, from which, the following are extracts. 



V11I PREFACE* 

such company as the conductors of the Scourge* 
and the New Monthly Magazine f : for quoting 

" The title of this satire, we confess, staggered us ; and we 
" thought that writer bold, and were half disposed to think him pre- 
*' sumptuous, who could thus fearlessly tread in the very paths, as it 
" were, of our great poet. We opened the leaves, then, with a 
" strong belief that we were destined to experience nothing but dis- 
" appointment, and possibly to labour through a hundred pages of 
6i the same namby-pamby strains which almost daily issue from the 
" London presses. We were soon, however, most agreably sur- 

— 

* Now comes the Scourge, armed with a scalping knife and a 
tomohawk. 

" I'll cross it, though it blast me!" 

" The manufacturer of the production before us is one of those 
" favoured and fortunate individuals, who possess just sufficient 

" spirit and ambition to attempt an act of petty mischief, without 

_ __ 

•f" Let me also quote the opinion of another undoubted oracle, 
equally candid and complimentary. — " The author whose poverty of 
" intellect obliges him to adopt such rhymes as ' applaud^ ' Lord; 9 
"'pass,' 'farce;' 'yawn,' and 'morn," is little calculated to 
'* assume the chair of modern criticism.'* 

New Monthly Magazine, 



PREFACE. IX 

in the same page, the candid and liberal remarks 
of enlightened judges^ with the low scurrility of two 

" prised, and so our readers will probably think, when they learn 
" our opinion that the Modern Dunciad has nothing to dread 
" from a comparison with the Dunciad of the Last Century. 
" Whoever the author is, and we pretend not even to guess, he is 
" worthy by talent and by principle, to wield the formidable lash 
" of legitimate satire. We may possibly think him rather too in- 
" discriminate in his censures, but we would rather impute this opi- 
" nion to some lurking and almost unconscious partialities of ouv 
<c own, than to malice, or injustice in our satirist. " 

" the ability to accomplish it. The writer of The Modern Dunciad 
" would doubtless be very provoking if he could ; but, luckily for 
" him, all his exertions are ineffectual ; and we positively believe 
P that were he to publish a volume of similar dimensions every week, 
u he might wait till the day of doom before the most cutting satire 
" in his book would provoke the resentment of the most irritable 
" animal that ever preyed on the garbage of literature, or grazed 
" on the borders of Parnassus ; and the reader, who, by a resolute 
" exercise of his patience, has at length accomplished its perusal, in 
u vain endeavours to recal to his recollection a splendid image, a 
P fortunate allusion, or a skilful sarcasm. 

i( He is always easy, but rarely interesting ; and his greatest 



X PREFACE. 

miserable pretenders to criticism. Literary hire- 
lings who, with " Deficiens crumena" may be 

" Here is not only good poetry, but, what is better, good princi- 
" pie also, and these go hand in hand throughout the poem. The 
" bard pursues his steady and even course, and administers much 
u wholesome and merited castigation. To prove, however, that hit 
" indignation at worthlessness and folly has its source in his admi- 
" ration of merit, wit, and genius, he bursts forth in strains of ani- 
" mated praise." 

" The concludingremonstrances of the poet to his friend on the 

" profligacy of the age are written in the best style of our best sen- 

" timents — and it would be a dereliction of duty, and an abandon- 

" ment of principle in us to deny that his indignation has its source 

_ 
" in virtue, and that he has proved himself an able defender of 

" taste, worth, morals, and religion" 

Antijacobin Review. 

" merit is the harmony of his verse ; his greatest fault, invincible 
" mediocrity." — Here follows a long defence of Mr, Hewson Clarke, 
Catalani and Dehayes. 

The Scourge. 

In one part of this very dispassionate criticism, the author's verses 
are denominated a rapid and monotonous" and in the above quo- 
tation, they are allowed the merit of being " harmoniom " some- 



PREFACE. XI 

bribed into any things are more dangerous as friends, 
than as enemies ; I should be sorry to possess the 
good word of certain persons, of whom every one 
speaks ill. I have therefore reason to be thankful 
for having escaped their praise, rather than to la- 
ment having incurred their censure. It seems that 
I have attacked some notorious dunces, which of- 
fence has naturally enough provoked the vengeance 
of the brethren : the Gentlemen of Grub-Street 
are in duty bound to defend the Gentlemen of the 
Dunciad. 

But first and foremost of the indignant tribe, who 
are still smarting from my lash, stands Tom Shuffle- 
ton. This obscure person has written a threatening 
libel in the Scourge*; but, alas! his pen is as 

what contradictory — but this is ** Magno conatu magnas nugas.'* 
The critic of the Scourge has a treacherous memory, which is too 
apt to recollect things that never took place, and to forget those that 
really did. 



* Upon the supposed author of " The Modern Dunciad." The 
editor of the " Scourge" has had so often to " ransack for filth his 



Xil PREFACE. 

harmless as his sword, and his courage is nearly up- 
on a par with his abilities. He is offended with my 



heart, for lies his brain," that he declined the drudgery of abuse 
upon the present occasion, and employed his worthy coadjutor, Tom 
Shuffleton. And in truth, Tom has laboured in his vocation ;— but 
let the following extracts, from his " Stanzas," speak for them- 
selves : 

" Behold the Prince of Darkness comes, 
" Sucking his dirty inky thumbs, 
" With all the dunce's spirit! 
" Pil'd on his back a goodly weight— 
" Behold his lampoons on the great, 
" Destin'd by Somnus and by fate, 

" To meet the gloom they merit." 
******* 
" Oh, when the senseless rogue shall dare 
" To give his name the open air 

" I'll make the blockhead shiver; 
" But, dirty dog! his timid heart 
" Will never let his name depart, 
" Lest Fate should make the coward smart, 
" And perforate his liver ! .'" 



PREFACE. Xiil 

criticism upon his book*; very likely:— my object 
was to lash fools; and how could he hope to escape 



" But let him pass, the prating sot 

" Will very quietly be forgot, 

" Doom'd on his crony's shelves to rot, 
u While witlings round him revel; 

" The coy reviews no longer paid, 

u Will call his muse an arrant jade, 
" And send her to the devil." 
Tom Shuffleton, who pretends to know the author, thus charac- 
:rises, or rather caricatures him in a note to his Stanzas : " The 
physiognomy of our satirist very much resembles the ruddy hardi- 
hood of the daubed Saracen on Snow Hill, and might very well be 
sketched by some minor artist for the purpose of frightening 
naughty children, and reducing them to prompt obedience to 
their narses. ,, — -And again he describes him as " a youth of much 
whiskered beauty, apparently very terrific, but in heart as timid 
c as a lamb." 



* " The Amatory Works of Tom Shuffleton," a thing so truly in- 
mous, that Messrs. Carpenter and Jennings, the booksellers, re- 
used to publish it. It was then hawked about the town, but with- 
out success, for no one could be found who valued his character so 
little as to become the publisher. 






XIV PREFACE. 



whipping? But did I inform the public that this 
same Tom Shuffieton was no other than a profligate 
scribbler, known by the name of John Gwilliam* ? 



* The Cutter of Coleman-Street—<x gentleman " who hath an 
underhand way of disposing of his goods." He is a most indefati- 
gable paper-stainer; for in addition to his numerous " admired 
works*;' almost every catchpenny periodical publication of the pre- 
sent day bears some marks of his genius. But John, though a plod- 
ding, is nevertheless an unlucky rhymer; his works having been 
universally condemned by the critics, who have never as yet been 



* The following is a tolerably correct list of John Gwilliam's 

publications. 

Sundry Rhymes in Ackermann's Poetical Magazine. 

The Delicious Amour, or Her Ladyship and Johnny Unbedded. 

The Battles of the Danube and Barrosa. 

The Campaign, and other Poems. 

The Mourning Wreath, and other Poems. 

The Bower of Bliss, and other Poems. 

The Exile of Elba. 

The Amatory Works of Tom Shuffieton, &c. &c 
All of which made but one step from the printer's to the pastry 
cook's. 



PREFACE. XV 

— Did I drag forward his fulsome dedications, his 
violations of grammar and of common sense, his 
obscenity and profaneness ?— Did I ring in his ears 
• the wholesome advice that he has continually re- 
« ceived from the reviewers to leave offhis idle propen- 
sity to rhyming, and to sink his vanity to the low 

. able to discover those abilities which John, in the vanity of his heart, 
fancies he possesses. — Pope's saying 

" No creature smarts so little as a /bo/," 

finds ample illustration in John Gwilliam; he is the most self-con- 
ceited blockhead imaginable; and amidst the continual merriment 
that his dulness creates, he looks around him with unconscious 
stupidity, 

it 

" And thanks his stars he was not born a fool.** 

An arrow, however, from the shaft of ridicule will sometimes reach 
ihim; then he fumbles for his brains, and throws about his dirt at 
random; but 

" If he call whore and rascal from his garret, 
" He does you no more mischief than a parrot." 

It is John's flattery that is most to be dreaded. 



XVI PREFACE/ 

standard of his abilities * ? I might have done this, 
and more. — I might have proclaimed him as the 
author of an indecent pamphlet, called, u The De- 
licious Amour/' which he suppressed a few hours 
after its publication, upon being threatened with a 
prosecution and a sound cudgelling. But I acted 
with forbearance towards him; I did not brand him 
as a common libeller; — nay, I gave him credit for 
a small piece, " The Campaign/* which I picked 
out of the huge dunghill of his prose and rhyme. I 
once felt inclined to illustrate my remarks upon 
Tom's riff-raff with quotations, but I must forbear; 
his pages are only fit for the perusal of Sally f and 



* Some time since John Gwilliam, or some good-natured friend, 
Sally perhaps, transmitted a puff upon his " Heloise to Abelard" 
to the editor of the " Theatrical Inquisitor, 5 ' who, though not very 
nice in these matters, rejected it. John was, however, more fortu- 
nate upon another occasion, for he procured the insertion of a pane- 
gyric upon his Battle Poems in an ephemeral journal, called the 
Mentor, long since defunct. 



f Sally is only one of Tom's beauties; for by his own account he 



PREFACE. XVII 

the frail sisterhood, to whom they are principally 
addressed: to them they may be agreeable 3 and I 
have no doubt Sally is too well versed in the tropes 
and figures of Billingsgate not to relish the low 
slang of her quondam lover, Tom Shuffleton. As a 
writer in the Scourge, he will prove a great acquisi- 
tion to the cause of scandal, and a worthy companion 
to a herd of libellers, who 

* £ For almonds would cry whore to their own mother." 

In placing him in the Dunciad I have only restored 
him to his old associates; Anthony Pasquin wanted 

has a whole seraglio of easy nymphs, " for whom no shepherd sighs 
in vain," at his command. I cannot imagine a more ludicrous scene 
than 7'om Shuffleton in Sally's apartment, (" four stories mounting 
to her bower,") composing one of his rhapsodies, while she assists 
him with her own brilliant conceptions. 

Tom Shuffleton, resolv'd to rally, 

Invokes his muse in praise of Sally, 
O worthy resolution ! — 

Not e'en 2'om's muse the nymph degrades, 

Since both alike are arrant jades, 
And live by prostitution. 

b 



t 



XV111 PREFACE. 

a dunce like Tom Shuffieton to keep him in coun- 
tenance. 

One word more — John Gwilliam thinks he has 
discovered the author of " The Modern Dunciad;" 
I shall not undeceive him, neither is it my intention 
to call him a liar, whatever I may prove him to be. 
He is altogether too low an object for my resent- 
ment*. I am not disposed u to wage a war with 
dirt, or fight with air." — He has at length reached 
the pinnacle of infamous notoriety; he has been re- 
gularly installed in the Temple of Dulness, 

* John, as a downright murderer of common sense, is determined 
to have " a decent execution against next sessions" he is therefore 
busily employed in arranging his trumpery for publication, among 
which will probably be found some dull abuse upon the real or ima- 
ginary author of u The Modern Dunciad." But let me here remark, 
that in future John will have all the sport to himself ; for should he 
attribute my work to the Great Mogul (a thing by no means un- 
likely in his present disturbed state of mind) I shall never think it 
worth my while to contradict him. I now dismiss him as an incorri- 
gible dunce, whom conviction cannot shame, nor friendly admoni- 
tions cure. 



PREFACE. XIX 

" Where ev'ry rogue that stunk alive, 
" Becomes a precious mummy dead."— 

But although the satisfaction of having chastised 
such a rabble was sufficient to repay me for any 
pains that this Poem might have cost me, I have 
still received a higher recompense — the applause of 
those whom I was most solicitous to please. — There 
are some 



' ' " Ere spent my vital days, 

u Within whose breasts my tomb I wish to raise ;" 

from such I have experienced the kindest proofs of 
regard; they have fully entered into my sentiments, 
and I flatter myself that at some future period (when 
I shall most require it) they will be found ready to 
bear testimony to the rectitude of my intentions, 
and the justice of my satire*. 

* When death has wrapp'd my head in clay, 
And this frail life has pass'd away, 
When after nature's dying throes 
My weary spirit finds repose, 



■# 



XX PREFACE. 

The present work being designed to expose bad 
authors rather than to celebrate good ones, I have 

That sweet repose exempt from pain, 
Which here it sought, but sought in vain, 
I ask no well-dissembled tear, 
No idle pomp to mock my bier, 
But this one simple boon I crave 
When I am dead and in my grave — 

A Friend sincere, who knew me well, 
The vain inquiring world to tell 
No flatt'ring tale, but bring to view 
My merits and my frailties too; 
\ Lest, urg'd by spleen and malice, those 

Who once were only secret foes, 
Surround my tomb with envious din, 
While I unconscious "sleep within. 

And let my Friend this record bear, 
That early in a sea of care 
I vent'rous sought my devious way, 
While rocks and quicksands round me lay: 
The tempest lower'd, without a guide 
I feebly stemni'd misfortune's tide, 



fe 



PREFACE. XXI 

had but few opportunities of noticing living merit*. 
Yet as far as was consistent with my plan, I have 

And grateful for my perils o'er, 
With many a struggle reacb'd the shore. 
Then with the world no more at strife, 
I sought a calm sequester'd life, 
Received my summons from on high, 
Content to live, though glad to die* 

Let no unfriendly step intrude 
On this my peaceful solitude. — 
Here all my deeds beneath the sun, 
Here all my good and evil done, 
Passions that once disturb'd my breast 
No longer active, lie at rest. — 

* I am far from undervaluing the poetical genius of the present 
age, although I cannot subscribe to the opinion which has been so 
generally adopted, that our modern bards have excelled, or even 
equalled, their immortal predecessors. — Of Lord Byron I could 
wish to speak in terms of unqualified praise : he is a great and an 
original genius ; he has a depth of thought and a force of expression 
that is truly admirable. In aiming at too much conciseness he is 



XXII PREFACE, 

given praise where I thought praise was due ; and 
whether distributing praise or censure, it has been 

Here grief subsides, and rage expires, 
And mad ambition's wild desires, 
The poet's dreams, tbe critic's gall, — 
The grave oblivious buries all. 

Yes, in the dark sepulchral urn 
E'en love itself forgets to burn, 
And friendship's bright ethereal ray 
No more informs the silent clay: — 
Sense, feeling, all — save hope have fled 
From this lone mansion of the dead. 
She bending from her heav'nly sphere, 
Completes the Christian's triumph here, 
Cheers his departing spirit's gloom, 
And casts a radiance round his tomb. 

often harsh and obscure, while his artificial pauses, and his rapid 
and sometimes unnatural transitions, give to his poetry an air of 
pedantry and affectation. Upon many occasions, however, he is ex- 
quisitely simple and pathetic ; his simile of the Kashmeer Butterfly , 
and that fine passage, beginning with, " He who hath bent him o'er 
the dead" cannot easily be paralleled. Bat it is in " Childe 






PREFACE. XXU* 

constantly my endeavour to keep the maxim of the 
Roman Satirist full in my view. 

u Cum Tabulis, aninmrn censoris suniet honesti." — 

Harold," (the greatest of all his works), that the geuius of Lord 
Byron shines most conspicuous : his lamentations over the ruins of 
Greece, his passionate exhortations to spare the last relics of her an- 
cient grandeur, and his just and generous indignation against our 
modern Vandal for despoiling her of what the barbarians themselves 
held sacred, are the very soul of pathos and poetry. With Lord 
Byron's morals (upon which so much has been said) I have nothing 
to find fault : his religious opinions may be too liberal for the bigot, 
who would shudder to admit of the possibility of a Mussulman being 
saved ; and he appears to contemplate existence with a gloomy eye — 
let those be enamoured of life who have tasted largely of its sweets ; 
the unhappy may surely have the privilege of expressing their in- 
difference, if not disgust, of a burthen which necessity alone compels 
them to bear. 

The worts of Mr. Scott shew little or no appearance of learning, 
but they are full of spirit and variety. Considering the rapidity 
with which he produces them, it is surprising that their faults should 
be so much outweighed by their beauties. As a descriptive poet, he 
has great merit ; and though the roaring cataract, the barren heath, 
and the mountain glen, have been described even to satiety j Mr* 



XXIV PREFACE. 

Many anecdotes*, connected with the private 
history of my heroes, I have suppressed ; but I beg 

Scott, by the force of his genius, generally contrives to render his 
scenes, if not new, at least picturesque and agreeable. He has like- 
wise the art (aud no contemptible one too) of forming a very pleas- 
ing tale from incidents, which, if related by an ordinary pen, would 
be wholly uninteresting. But the greatest triumph of his genius is 
his having exalted a measure, hitherto considered as unfit for the 
purposes of serious and heroic poetry, into cadences full, sounding, 
and harmonious. This is to consider Mr. Scott in his most favour- 
able light ; for even the blindest of his admirers must allow that 
upon very many occasions he is vulgar, prosaic, and not a little 
tedious. Nor have his merits passed unrewarded ; he is not of those 
bards who have had to console themselves with the reflection, that 
if genius bring not wealth and honours, it will at least confer im- 
mortality : he has reaped every advantage that could be derived from 
the possession of superior talents. It therefore becomes him to look 

* " Considering the variety of names introduced into this poem, 
" and the opportunities presented by the introduction of notes, of 
" entertaining a?iecdote t the barrenness and brevity of the writer 
M before us are peculiarly reprehensible." 

The Scourge. 
Here's black ingratitude ! The gentlemen of the Scourge would 



PREFACE. XXV 

to add, that my future forbearance entirely depends 
upon their good behaviour : the wholesome dis- 

to his laurels, to be satisfied with the fame that he has already ac- 
quired, which any further endeavours might tend to diminish rather 
than to increase. 

With the Muse of Mr. Southey what critic can keep pace ? — 
Another Epic ! 

" Lines forty thousand — Cantos twenty-five !" 

Yet compared with his former works, " Roderick, or the last of 
the Goths," is regular and consistent. It possesses none of that 
ludicrous wildness which distinguishes " Thalaba," and the ** Curse 
of Kehama" — deficient in those strokes of tenderness, so admirable 
f - in " Madoc ;" in the display of the more terrible passions, it is su- 
perior to all. The descriptions are frequently too long and too ab- 

doubtless have afforded me a fine opportunity of indulging in enter-' 
tabling anecdote, had I been so inclined. A stries of ridiculous ad- 
ventures, under the title of M Annals of Grub-Street" might have 
made the public merry at their expence. But the ingratitude of 
dunces is proverbial ; Swift laments it in the following exquisitely 
pathetic strains : — 

" O Grub-Street ! how do I bemoan thee, 
" W T hose graceless children scorn to own thee ! 



XXVI PREFACE. 

cipline that they have already experienced will, I 
trust, deter them from making any further attempts 



stracted, the thoughts overstrained, and the language harsh and j 
wordy ; but a fine strain of morality runs through the whole : it j 
presents a high-wrought picture of guilt, suffering, and repentance; I 
and the scenery, which is laid in a beautiful and romantic country, j 
is drawn with a vivid and a powerful pencil. It is pleasing to mark I 
the gradual progress of genius ; and Mr. Southey in this last work j 
has made a rapid advance towards that perfect excellence which he j 
has discovered such a noble emulation to attain. 

Neither Mr. Coleridge nor Mr. JVordsworth are popular ; and 
while their talents are devoted to please old women and children, 
how can they ever expect to be otherwise ? It is the singular per- I 
verseness of these authors to provoke ridicule when they might com- 
mand respect. The tragedy of " Remorse" affords abundant proof 

" Tho', by their idiom and grimace, 
" They soon betray their native place. 
" Yet thou hast greater cause to be 
" Ashamed of them, than they of thee. 



'Tis true, 'tis pity ; 



H And pity 'tis, 'tis true. 



PREFACE. XXVll 

at notoriety. Of some of the old offenders on the 
Grub-Street calendar I entertain but little hopes of 
reformation ; a dunce of twenty years standing is a 
desperate character — it would be imprudent to 
grant a respite to such veterans as Clio Rickman*, 
and that old butt of Satan, Anthony Pasquin; but 

that Mr. Coleridge possesses abilities far above the ordinary cast ; 
and Mr. Wordsworth's " Excursion/' with all its incongruities of 
language, fable, and character, will hand down his name with some 
credit to posterity. Mr. Campbell has written sufficient to make us 
regret that he does not oftener appear before the public ; and Mr. 
Rogers is a living example that it is possible to be correct without 
losing any thing in spirit or variety. And yet the present is far from 
being the Augustan Age of England. 



* A Citizen of the World ! fer in this character he has the 
effrontery to display bis ludicrous figure in the print-shops : but 
more of Clio Rickman hereafter, when he will be introduced t© the 
reader in due form. 

" Let bawdry, Billingsgate, my daughter dear, 
" Support his front — and oaths bring up the rear." 



XXV111 PREFACE. 

the immature dulness of a Clarke, a Barrett*, or a 
Thurlow, may fairly recommelid them to mercy. 

* Here I was mistaken. It is surprising to see how fast Mr. 
Barrett accelerates towards confirmed dulness. His Bartholomew- 
Fair Comedy of " My Wife — What Wife ?" was a rapid stride : I 
never beheld a graver audience — half the merriment that attends 
the representation of one of Mr. Lewis's tragedies would have suf- 
ficed. Not a smile '. Yes, one — of contempt mingled with pity. 

I am now about to introduce a curiosity — no lees than a Tragedy , 
written by a most surprising genius ; one Thomas Bishop, Yes, 
gentle reader, 

" For us, and for our tragedy, 
" Here stooping to your clemency, 
" We beg your hearing patiently." 

Mr. Bishop thus unfolds his plot, &c. " This tragedy is founded 
H on a feast 555 years before Christ, and on facts ancient and mo- 
u deru ; they are blended with other incidents of the present time, 
" for reform and caution to youth; for terror to the wicked, &c. &c. ; 
u and this is the first piece that was offered with the curious chc- 
" racters, scenery, machinery, and weapons of war that was in use 
u at the above time."— Now for the catastrophe. M King Koranz- 
** zo slain— King Koranzzo titled — Castenus made a king after ui* 






PREFACE. XXIX 



Upon what has already been written concerning 
me I have perhaps dealt too largely*; of what re- 



r escape from the jaws of the wild beasts — Dr. Pill saved by the 
<( hour-glass — the Lawyer escapes by the bonds, &c. — Lady Straw- 
u berry poisoned, and her two Sons fall a victim — Mrs. Hector 
■* hanged in chains.." 

What a slaughter-house is here ! But let me introduce a part of 
the Dramatis Persona. — " Men. King Koranzzo, of Babylon ; 
" King Zemuzia, of Persia ; Lord Strawberry ; King Quastenuch, 
u after King Koranzzo ; Prince Lompodo ; Dr. Pill ; Dr.TVin- 
u terbottom ; four Lords ; two Lawyers ; four Priests ; two Beef- 
" eatirs ; fourteen Pages" fyc. Sfc. — Women. Four Queens; 
"four Ladies; Lady Strawberry y and two Daughters; Mrs. 
(i Hector ; Princess Lompodo ; Persian and Chaldean Women 
" and Children; sixteen Children with white Staffs; three Sa- 
u vages ; five Ghosts* 1 Sfc. Sfc. Sfc. 

* For the following polite morceau I am indebted to an anony- 
mous correspondent. 

" To the Author of the Modern Dunciad. 

" O vilest of the Grub-Street race! 
" Compound of all that's mean and base 1 



XXX PREFACE. 



mains to be written, and I understand that an (C In- 
Jormatum fulmen" from a well-known quarter, is 

For the Dialogue, Prologue, Dirge, and Dedication, all of which 
are originals of their kind, I must refer the reader to the work itself; 
enough has been already quoted to excite curiosity, which will be 
amply gratified by an attentive perusal of the whole. But let not 
Mr. Bishop stop here ; for, as the present grand work only em- 
ployed him three years in composing, may we not hope that, 
encouraged by his enlightened patron, the Honourable Frederick 
Fitzroy, he will make a still bolder effort, and produce a tragedy, in 
which not one of the characters shall survive the scene. Verbal 

u Poor wretched grovelling worm of earth, 

" To libel genius, taste, and worth j 

i€ With that infernal muse of thine 

rt To damp the poet's fiame divine. — 

4C Shame on thee, ruthless coward, shame! 

4( To artfully conceal thy name; 

u For should'st thou once divulge it, many 

u Would blow thy brai?is out — if thou* st any ! 

" Hie to thy cell, inhuman quiz, 

" And may I ne'er behold thy phiz, 

u Detested dunce, till, by St. Hilary, 

44 I'see it grinning through the pillory." — 



PREFACE, XXXI 

in preparation for me, I am totally indifferent : of 
, such satire I had rather be the subject than the 
Author. There is, however, one piece of informa- 
i tion that I must not withhold from the public; 
namely, that Mr. Clarke has profited by my friendly 
advice, and, in the concise language of the Scourge, 
" has abandoned the pursuit of satire altogether." 
I most cordially approve of his resolution, and 
" Transeat in exemplum *." 

critics might cavil at Mr. Bishop's occasional laxity of grammar, but 
the daring genius that produced " Koranzzo's Feast" could hardly 
i stoop to the conjugation of verbs, and the declension of pronouns : 
i if any fault be discoverable, it is the mode of Mrs. Hector's execu- 
I tion. Hanging is not an heroic death ; she had better have been 
beheaded. The poisoning of Lady Strawberry is very well ; but I 
j am in raptures with the fate of her two sons, who both fall a victim. 
I must just hint, that although no person of taste will think Two 
Pounds unreasonable for so many Kings, Queens, Ghosts, and Beef- 
eaters, there may be some to whom the price may appear exorbitant; 
although the Ghosts themselves are well worth the money. 

* A marvellous change lias lately taken place in the opinions of 
that great poet, Mr. 7'homas Agg, who (to use his own words) has 



EFAC 



XXXU PRBK\CE. 

been compelled to commence and finish a long poem in short verse, 
called " Waterloo," which he humbly dedicates to the Duke of 
York. But Mr. Agg, though by choice a poet and by trade an 
auctioneer, is no puffer; for he modestly informs us that his work is 
full of blunders, in consideration of which, he charges the very 
trifling sum of twenty-Jive shillings ; being twenty shillings for the 
paper, and five for the poetry. The following stanza only requires 
to be intelligible to be universally admired : 

" Bold is the bard" (bold indeed I) " that grasps the thong of 

" war, 
" Drives his wing'd steeds and guides his thundering car, 

" Where havoc stalks, a hydra multiform, 
" That, while the whirlwind of the field is high, 
" And rival lightnings redden to the sky, 
" Surveys the horrors with poetic eye, 

" And models there the echo of the storm ; — 
" Dauntless the glance that skims the blasted heath, 
" And marks with steady orb the gluttony of death." 

To model the echo of a storm is certainly a very singular experi- 
ment. I will not venture to say that Mr. Agg has completely suc- 
ceeded, but the attempt was laudable. 

u Thus bad begins, but worse remains behind." 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

THE following Poem is written in imita- 
tion of the first Satire of Persius : the pre- 
sent subject being however of a more general 
nature, the author has in many places been 
obliged to depart very widely from the 
original. 



THE 



MODERN DUNCIAD. 



THE 



MODERN DUNCIAD. 



P. MOW anxious is the Bard, and yet how vain 
His wishes : 

F. Cease this moralizing strain, 
What mortal will peruse it ? 

P. Perhaps a few :— 
F. Alas ! the town has something else to do, 
Than read one line of all thou shalt indite, 
While Byron, Wordsworth, Scott, and Croker 

write. 
'Tis hard — but— 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD, 






P. Spare thy pity, 'tis my lot ; 
What some might think a grievance, hurts me not : 
The Bard by fashion dragged before the scene, 
Nor wakes my envy, nor provokes my spleen ; 
Let venal Scotchmen puff him to the town, 
And herald hawkers cry him up and down, 
Indifferent still, I hear the loud acclaim, 
Nor court that noisy strumpet, Common Fame, 
Yes ! . I can bear that envy, hate, and spite, 
And cold contempt attend on all I write ; 
That Wilson's* ideot, Thurlow's splayfoot line, 
And Barrett's^ doggrel be preferred to mine ; 

* Mr. Wilson, the * Magnus Apollo" of the Edinburgh Review- 
ers, and author of certain rhymes called " The Isle of Palms." 

f Mr. Eaton Stannard Barrett, Student of the Inner Temple ; 
" A Clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross, 
r< Who pens a stanza, when he should engross. 1 ' 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 3 

No threats can sway me, no opinions bend, 
I care not; — let them censure or commend. 
Yet would I speak, but coward fear restrains 
The rebel blood just rising in my veins ; 
Sets my imagination at a stand, 
And makes my pen drop harmless from my hand. 
F. Why Truth, that arms the Stoic, ne'er can fail — 
P. Then Fear for onco give way, and Truth prevail. 
When I behold in this weak driveling age, 
Poole, Dibdin, Pocock, Hook, possess the stage ; 

This gentleman is the author of a poem called " Woman," from 
which might be extracted many passages that would tend to illustrate 
the Bathos. 

Mr. Barrett has lately obliged the town with " The Heroine," a 
novel, which Mr. B. himself pronounces in his advertisement to be 
superior in wit to Tristram Shandy, and in spirit and contrivance to 
Don Quixote ! If impudence be a qualification for legal advance- 
ment, this young man may one day become Attorney-General. 






THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Charm Gallery, Box, and Pit, a judging throng ! 
With Melo-drame, and Pantomime, and song : 
See boxing * Y******h in the lists appear, 
And *H**ke drive forth a flaming chariotteer ; 
See Coutts ape all that Queensb'ry was before, 
A palsied, amorous Strephon of fourscore. 
Yes ! when I hear frail Misses, grey in years, 
Scream their lascivious Odes, and rhyming Peers 
In little Sonnets, tender, dull, and soft, 
Outwhine the mawkish frippery of Lofft f ; 



* Lord Y*****th and Lord H**ke, the one a Bruiser, the other 
a Stage-Coachman ; both Noblemen, and both * * 

Who justly boast 
At least superior Jockeyship, and claim 
The honours of the Turf as all their own. 



f Mr. Capel Lofft, a Sonnet-Writer in the " Monthly Mirror." — 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 5 

Then, then I boldly rise, and dare the worst — 
F. Forbear this railing : — 

P. I must speak, or burst. 
There was a time when Churchill, bold and coarse, 
Gave Wit its point, and Satire all its force ; 
When Pope, immortal Satirist ! made his prey 
The Herveys and the Gildons of the day ; 
Dragg'd into light th' abandoned scribbling crew, 
And boldly scourg'd them in the public view : 
But novj, so cheap is praise, there scarce remains 
One fool to flatter in our courtly strains. 



It is however but justice to allow this gentleman the merit of first 
introducing to the public that delightful poem, " The Farmer's 
Boy." — -His Introductory Preface, relative to Mr. Bloomfield, is 
highly interesting, and written with great taste and feeling. 



6 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Had they but hVd to witness present times, 
What sins, what dulness, had provok'd their rhymes; 
Satire unaw'd would then have dar'd to speak, 
Till deep conviction glowM on H**d***Vs cheek; 
And M*n*"**s, brainless blockhead ! stood confest 
The public nuisance, and the public jest. 
F. Once more forbear— thy proper medium know : — 
Degraded names ! can Satire stoop so low ? 
When H**d***t ambles in a courtier's guise, 
All know the hoary pimp, and all despise. 
Does credence wait on each preposterous tale ? 
Who cares a jot when Agg f and f M*n***s rail ? 



f Mr. Thomas Agg was formerly a Bookseller at Bristol, where 
he became- a bankrupt; since which, he has written a variety of 
matter for a publication, now defunct, called, " Town Talk," and 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

They risk vexatious suits, as well they may, 
Who have nor shame, nor wherewithal to pay. 
Let them enjoy in secret, dirty souls, 
Their miserable bread, and peck of coals ; 
'Twere cowardice to drag them from their holes. 



continues writing under the assumed names of Humphrey Hedgehog 
and Jeremiah Juvenal. He has lately taken up the title of Peter 
Pindar, and thus confounds his spurious trash with the productions 
of Doctor Walcott. It is fit that the public should be made ac- 
quainted with the deception ; the original Peter is too often profane, 
but never dull. 

Mr. M*n***s was Editor of the " Satirist,*' and renowned for 
throwing as much filth as any of his contemporary Libellers. In 
person, he bears no small resemblance to the " Phantom Moore," 
whom Pope describes, 

" Of such a bulk as no twelve bards could raise, 

" Twelve starveling bards of these degenerate days." 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

What can provoke thy Muse ? scarce thrice a year 
* Matilda's woeful Madrigals appear; 
Lewis no more the tender maid affrights 
With incantations, ravishments, and sprites : 
Crusca (to Gifford thanks !) is fairly fled, 
And heavy f Wharton sleeps among the dead ; 



* Rosa Matilda, as she poetically describes herself, is the daugh- 
ter of the notorious Jew King ; she is a Lady of most versatile 
talents, and writer of innumerable Odes, Elegies, and Sonnets, as 
likewise of sundry volumes of <( Horrors," in the style of Mr. 
Lewis's Monk, very terrible and meritorious productions. 



f Mr. Wharton has presented the public with a huge Epic, known 
by the name of " Roncesvalles." I have never been able to muster 
up sufficient resolution to read this work through: but what I have 
read, convinces me, that though it contains some beauties, they are 
only here and there scattered " in the dry desart of a thousand 
lines." 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 9 

E'en f Walcott's impious blasphemies are o'er, 
And Andrews' Prologues are the vogue no more. 

What can provoke thy Muse ?— the blinded school, 
Whose greatest boast was that it err'd by rule, 
That philosophic horde of fools and knaves 
Has falPn — nor Paine blasphemes, nor Priestley 

raves : 
Repenting bigots bow and kiss the rod, 
And prostrate nations own the name of God. 
Reason, that dangerous pride of human kind, 
t For ever soaring, and for ever blind ; 

f The wit and humour of this writer can never atone for his 

scandalous disregard of all decency throughout his numerous worts, 

' He appears never so much at his ease as when he is ridiculing the 

Holy Scriptures ; a propensity denoting the utmost depravity of 

heart. 



10 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Prone to distrust when tardy to discern, 
Too weak to compass, yet too proud to learn ; 
With shame reviews each ill-digested plan, 
And turns with horror from " The Rights of Man." 

What can provoke thy Muse ? — in silence deep 
Tooke rests — but not in everlasting sleep* : 



* During the French Revolution, a Law passed, decreeing the 
sleep of death to be eternal. To such philosophers let me reply in 
the sublime language of Tully : u Quod si in hoc erro, quod animos 
hominum immortales esse credam, libenter error; nee mihi hunc 
errorem, quo delector dum vivo, extorqueri volo ; sin martuus, ut 
quidam minuti philosophi censent, nihil sent iam ; non vereor, ne 
hunc errorem menm mortui -philosophi irideant" 

" Yes, I will trust, and triumph in the hope 
" Of immortality, though fools may jeer. 
u If in no future world the soul shall wake, 
" They never can accuse me of the cheat. — 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. H 

Another scene awaits his trembling sight, 

A gloom more awful, or a blaze more bright ! 

The veil is rent, the Sceptic's hateful name 

Stands justly branded with contempt and shame; 

The Christian Banner is again unfurPd, 

And Truth once more illumes a falling world. 



u So let me die in the delightful dream 

" And sweet delusion — of a world to come." 

Daniel. 

As I am upon this subject, I cannot help noticing the many at- 
tempts that have of late been made to revive a spirit of infidelity in 
our own country, by the re-publication of " Ecce Homo," " The 
Age of Reason," and other blasphemous productions. lam a true 
friend to the liberty of the press, but when that liberty degenerates 
into open licentiousness, it is for the strong arm of the law to 
remedy the evil. 



12 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

P. All this is true — but still enough remains, 
Enough in conscience to provoke my strains. 
See Thelwall*, void of decency and sense, 
Erect, God wot ! a school for eloquence ; 
The newest style of rhetoric to teach, 
And full-grown gentlemen their parts of speech i 
While from his tub, Gale Jones f, Sedition's sprite, 
Nonsense with sense confounds, and wrong with right; 



* Mr. Thelwall continues " tuning his voice, and balancing his 
hands" at bis house in Lincoln's Inn Fields: " preacher at once, 
and Zany of the age." 



\ This miserable object was formerly the Hero of a Forum, 
where a parcel of u Mendici, Mimi, BaZatrones," used to assemble 
to discuss the measures of government. It was a ludicrous sight to 
behold the Westminster Electors shaking hands with him the day he 
was liberated from Newgate. The Westminster Electors ! — u If I 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 13 

Rants, bounces, capers, a fantastic show !■ 
To scare the shilling orators below. 
Prolific Pasquin plies th' eternal quill, 
Fitzgerald rhymes, and Cobbett* proses still; 
Hoarse Clio RicKMAN'sf Sonnets bay the moon, 
Clio, a poet, patriot, and buffoon. 

am not ashamed of my company, I am a soused Gurnet ! There was 
but a shirt and a half in the whole regiment." 



* I am almost ashamed to mention this degraded man : the days 
of sedition are I hope now gone by : I shall therefore dismiss him 
with the following Epigram : 

Cobbett is free in act and thought, 

Deception he was never chid for s— * 
A Patriot, he was never bought. 

Or rather, he was never bid for. 



f This man, whose person is perhaps better known than his 
writings, is a contributer of Odes and Sonnets to the Monthly Maga» 



14 THE MODERN DUNCIAD, 

Godwin* pursues his philosophic schemes, 

And rapt in trance, Joanna South cott f dreams; 

Jeffrey turns Critic, but betrays his trust, 

And hot-prest Little J breathes the soul of lust ; 

zines. He is an avowed admirer of the New French School of Phi- 
losophy, and a staunch advocate for " The Rights of Man." He 
parades the streets in a strange garb, to the no small entertainment 
of the mob, who, like Clio, are in general great sticklers for freedom, 
N. B. He has no passion for clean linen. 



* William Godwin, the Philosopher. 

f This wretched imposter is lately dead : her followers kept up 
the delusion until the last; and, strange to tell, many of them are 
waiting in full confidence of her second comi7ig 7 when it seems all 
her predictions are to be fulfilled. 



X I was much surprised to find Lord Ellenborough praising Mr- 
Moore's poetry at a late trial. After this, let us hear no more of 
indictments for publishing things <x Contra bonos mores? The 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 15 

While chaste Minerva* kindly lends her aid 

To calm the scruples of each wishful maid. 

Lo, mad enthusiasts, would-be saints, stand forth, 

Sworn foes to godlike genius, private worth, 

With furious zeal attack e'en Shakspeare's famef, 

And hurl their poisonous darts at Garrick's name; 

Attorney-General too, with his usual facetiousness, complimented 
Mr. Twiss's Poetical talents. — Mr. Horace Twiss a Poet ! — "' O 
name it not in Gath '." 



* The Minerva Library in Leadenhall-Street, a well-known re- 
pository for dulness and obscenity. 



f The following Criticism is taken from the Third Volume of the 
Eclectic Review, Part I. page 76. — Art. Twiss's • Verbal Index 
of Shakspeare/ " He (i. e. Shakspeare) has been called, and justly 
too, the poet of nature ; a slight acquaintance with the religion of 
the Bible will shew, however, that it is of human nature in its worst 
shape, deformed by the basest passions, and agitated by the most 



16 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

And while they talk of truth, of candour rave, 
Insult the dead, and violate the grave. 

vicious propensities, that the poet became the priest ; and the in- 
cense offered at the altar of his goddess still continues to spread its 
poisonous fumes over the hearts of his countrymen, till the memory 
of his works is extinct. Thousands of unhappy spirits, and thousands 
yet to increase the number, will everlastingly look back with un- 
utterable anguish on the nights and days in which the plays of 
Shakspeare ministered to their guilty delights." — And again — " what 
Christian can pass through the most venerable pile of sacred archi- 
tecture which our metropolis can boast, without having his best 
feelings insulted by observing within a few yards of the spot from 
which prayers and praises are daily offered to the Most High, the 
absurd and impious Epitaph upon the tablet raised to one of the 
miserable retailers of his impurities ? Our readers, who are ac- 
quainted with London, will discover that it is the inscription upon 
David Garrick, in Westminster Abbey, to which we refer." 

To the ravings of these illiterate field-preachers, I shall only oppose 
one short sentence, written by Doctor Samuel Johnson : " The 
stream of time, which is continually washing the dissoluble fabrics of 
other poets v passes without injury the adamant of Shakspeare I" 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. IJ 

In Magazines vile anecdotes appear, 

And deal out dirty scandal through the year; 

For desp'rate libellers, when duns assail, 

Dare lawsuits, whips, the pillory, and the jail. 

This Hewson Clarke* can tell, misguided youth, 

What demon lur'd him from the path of truth, 



* Now stop your noses, readers all, and some, 
For here's a tun of midnight work to come ! 
The w pertinacious, and never-enough quoted," Mr. Hewson 
Clarke, of whose birth and parentage I know nothing, but with 
whose talents and pursuits I am somewhat' better acquainted, was 
educated at Cambridge. According to his own statement (for Mr. 
Clarke has favoured the public with a biographical account of him- 
self in the Third Number pf the " Scourge,' 5 written, it would seem, 
by a third person, but in reality penned by himself,) he is the author 
of numerous and successful writings, chiefly anonymous. But what 
these numerous and successful writings consist of, it were impossible 
to say, except indeed I name a lamentable production in rhyme, 



18 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

With low ambition TilL'd his canker'd mind, 
To entertain the basest of mankind ? 

called, " The Art of Pleasing;" and a principal part of the ribaldry 
and scurrility which have appeared in the Satirist, Scourge, and 
Theatrical Inquisitor. But hear we what Mr. Clarke himself says, 
" Every one of his (mind of Mr. Clarke's) productions has been 
composed in haste, and sent to the press without revision ; (so I 
should guess) his Sonnets (I had forgotten them) have not been 
ushered into the world after undergoing the ordeal of private criti- 
cism, nor his Essays (still born) assisted in their circulation by the 
officiousness of honourable friends, and the puffs of dependant Cri- 
tics." — It is to be lamented that a person like Mr. Clarke, who has 
had the advantage of a decent education, should have so far degraded 
himself as to associate with a herd of pestilent scribblers for the pro- 
pagation of scandal. Of Mr. Clarke's private character I know no- 
thing: I speak only of his literary one, which is sufficiently notorious 
to call for censure. Let him remember that the profession of a 
libeller is a dangerous one: 

What street, what lane but knows 

His purgings, pumpings, blankettings, and blows ? 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 19 

O! may he late for all his sins atone, 

And while he gains their ears, preserve his own** 



And therefore take the advice of honest Stephano — " While thou 
liv'st, keep a good tongue in thy head." 



* Warburton says, " Scribblers have not the common sense of 
other vermin, who commonly abstain from mischief when they see 
any of their kind gibbetted, or nailed up as terrible examples." 

I am sorry to find that Mr. Clarke has totally mistaken the mean- 
ing of my wish, which was most charitably intended : it is simply 
this — " May his (t\ e. Mr. Clarke's) sins meet with late retribution ; 
and while he gains the ears of mankind, may he long preserve his 
own." That I considered Mr. Clarke's ears in some danger, from 
the nature of his writings; and that the above wish was meant for 
their preservation, I can honestly declare. I hope Mr. Clarke will 
therefore remain satisfied. 

The above note, upon Mr, Clarke'? ears, is sufficiently explana- 
tory. 

SCRIBLERUS. 



20 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Behold yon gorgeous sign that swings in air, 
(A well-known refuge for the sons of Care) 
There meet a pyebald race, who cautious creep 
From garrets high, or in night-cellars sleep; 
The courtier bland, the opposition churl, 
To taste the sweets of politics and purl. 
There needy scribes, whose trade is to abuse, 
Forge lies and scandal for the next day's news ; 
There Whig and Tory wrangle, blockheads twain. 
And Vetus* drops th* abortions of his brain; 
There sits Britannicus and heaves a groan 
For England's debts, unmindful of his own; 
There party -drudges for one party scrawl, 
And baser hirelings who are slaves to all ; 

* An obscure letter-writer in the " Times" newspaper* 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 21 

There whines Morality, a canting monk; 
There roars Reform, heroically drunk; 
Stern Patriotism tries new schemes to find 
To serve his country, and to cheat mankind; 
There the vile quack * invents his poisonous pill, 
By royal patent privileged to kill ; 
And there the atheist's nightly thunders roll, 
That to destroy the body, this the soul. 

* I beg leave to offer the following epitaph as a very appropriate 
one for either Doctor B**d*ro, or Doctor 'S*l*m*n. 
Here rests, fast laid upon his back, 
That dang'rous animal, a quack. 
He undertook to cure all ills 
By his most efficacious pills; 
He told folks they should ne'er complain, 
For he would quickly ease their pain ; 
He kept bis word, 'twas strange he durst, 
They could'nt speak — he kilVd 'em first. 



92 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Then ask no more — yet if a doubt remain, 

Why thus to satire I devote my strain; 

With this reply be satisfied at once, 

While Bowles* exists-, can satire want a dunce? 

* The Rev. William Lisle Bowles, " a Parson much bemus'd in 
beer." — It would be a work of no small labor to wade through the 
various productions of this reverend bard. Odes, Epics, and Sonnets 
innumerable, " pass in long review." Let the following extracts 
suffice. — A Poem, called " Time's Holiday," affords a beautiful spe- 
cimen of rural simplicity : 

" Golden lads and lasses gay, 
Now is life's sweet holiday; 
Time shall lay by his scythe for you, 
And Joy the valley with fresh violets strew." 
Next comes a description of Loutherbourg's scene in France, 
where Mr. Bowles endeavours to be witty.- 

." And sure none ever saw a landscape shine, 

Basking in beams of such a sun as thine, 

But felt a fervid dew upon his phiz, 

And panting cry'd, " Oh, Lord, how hot it is!'* 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 23 

Bowles who hath cherishM as a costly pearl. 
The horse-play, dull obscenity of Curl; 
Th' accumulated trash of Smedley's page, 
For why? — to vent on Pope his puny rage. 



We Lave then " skiey blue," " bluey fading hills" and a large 
mass of verse, 'yclept, " The Sylph of Summer, or Air," being part 
of a projected Poem on the Elements. All this might be passed 
over; but why take up his pen against Pope? Could he suppose 
that he was rendering a service to literature, by defaming one of its 
brightest ornaments? But enough of Mr. Bowles and his works: 
we may forgive a blockhead " that little dares and little means ;" 
but not one that dares much, and means nothing. 

" More last words of Mr Baxter!" — Mr. Bowles has lately pub- 
lished a poem, called "' The Missionary," corpus sine pectore ! full 
of his usual affected prettiness of style. I have heard of one John 
Taylor, the water Poet; Mr. B. may be christened the milk and 
water Poet. 



24 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Is it not hard, (my friend) nay doubly hard, 

A sorry Critic and more sorry Bard, 

Whose jaded Pegasus 'yclept divine, 

Cries out for quarter at the fourteenth line; 

Should for base lucre*, (oh, how vilely won!) 

Complete what Ralph and Dennis left undone? 

Thus urg'd, thus prompted by the warm desire 

To vindicate the genius I admire; 

To add at least my humble meed of praise, 

To names revered in Britain's brighter days; 

To strip the poet of his false sublime, 

(Then Bowles, the Lord have mercy on thy rhyme !) 

And shew that Critics may at times appear 

In praise too cold, in censure too severe; 

* Mr. Bowles, I understand, got three hundred pounds for his 
edition of Pope. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 25 

I take the pen — when folly met his eye, 
Democritus would laugh — and so must I *. 

Now to begin — nor distant need we roam, 
Kind fate hath sent us fools enough at home; 
Our modern poets, bounteous in th' extreme, 
Rhyme on, and make waste paper by the ream. 
Five thousand lines composed— -a modest stint ! 
Next Westall must design, and Bulmer print; 
Then bound with care, and hot-press'd ev'ry sheet, 
The wonder-working quarto shines complete, 
Forth comes the promised work in all its pride, 
The author simpers, and the wits decide; 

* IMITATION. 
The Queen of Midas slept, and so may I. 

Pope, 



26 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Is the verse smooth; O, then 'tis call'd divine! 
And loud-approving Coxcombs cry, " B — dfine*f 
Behold a gaping crowd that never tire ! 
See Busby f, worthy son of such a sire, 

* IMITATION. 
Lost in amaze at language so divine, 
The audience hiccup, and exclaim, "d — d fine!" 

Gifford. 



f Mr. George Frederick Busby, son of the renowned Doctor of 
that name; notorious for publicly reading his father's translation of 
Lucretius to the nobility and gentry, and exposing himself upon a 
well-known occasion at Drury Lane Theatre. It was my intention 
to have selected a variety of passages from the Doctor's translation, 
to give the reader some idea of this young gentleman's modesty in 
undertaking the task of recitation : but as the work has scarcely ever 
reached beyond the circle of Dr. Busby's subscribers, I shall not 
drag from its merited oblivion the language of a Brothel. 

It has been announced that Master George is about to inflict upon 
the public a translation of the " Thebaid of Statius." — Will no good 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 27 

(For truth must own when all is said and done, 
The father's pertness centres in the son:) 
Straining with all his might 'gainst mood and tense, 
To make the Doctor's fustian sound like sense. 
He views the audience with theatric stare, 
His hands with equal motion saw the air; 
His voice in dulcet cadence taught to float, 
Seems the shrill pipings of an eunuch's throat : 
Assembled thus, our sapient nobles sit 
To hear how Busby, not Lucretius, writ. 
If now and then a sentiment exprest 
In language more indecent than the rest, 
Strike the attentive ear; — with fond regard, 
A hundred hands are rais'd to clap the bard : 

Christian dissuade this young man from an attempt that must render 
him doubly ridiculous in the eyes of the world? 



28 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

The Marchioness adores the charming man, 
F** Z **#*#* T \ eevSy an( j J*r**y flirts her fan; 
While doating H**d***t, tickled to the core, 
Starts up entranc'd, and ambles at threescore. 

Vain Scribbler! and is this, this all thy aim, 
Art thou content with transitory fame; 
Fame, that shall haunt thee living, d — n thee dead? 
Thus dost thou feed their ears, thus art thou fed ? 

But what avails, if faithless to my trust 
I hide (you cry) my talent in the dust? 
Why am I learn'd ? Why — Stop this vaunting tone ! 
Is learning nothing then, till fairly known ? 
But still (you straight rejoin) how sweet the sound 
To hear the murmur of applause go round, — 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 29 

« That's he," (the finger pointed all the while) 
" Renown'd for wit and elegance of style; 
Whom Critic Mawman* puffs, whose senseless 

whine 
Boeotian Buchan| quotes, and calls divine." 

Stark metre-mad, the lovesick Edwin sends 
Of jingling splayfoot verse, some odds and ends 
To driveling *****, in whose Magazine 
Th' inveterate sons of dulness vent their spleen; 

* Brother Mawman the bookseller, and Brother Salte the linen- 
draper, published a few years since " A Tour to the Lakes of Cum- 
berland." Brother Mawman is suspected of dabbling in the " Cri- 
tical Review." 



f It seems that the Earl of Buchan received Doctor Busby's pro- 
posals " with a refined frankness" 



30 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Proud of the gift so graciously bestow 'd, 

He prints the thing which Edwin calls an Ode. 

How Laura smiles! What less can Laura do? 

It gives her beauties that she never knew\ 

'Tis so pathetic! who unmov'd can read? 

Melissa faintly whispers, " Sad indeed!" 

In ecstacies Lucretia dies away, 

And Edwin grows immortal — for a day ! 

And is not now the author truly blest, 
By Critics flatter'd, by the fair caressed ? 
Shall not his praise by future bards be sung, 
When envious death has stoppM his tuneful tongue ? 

F. By trade a censor, and resolv'd to sneer, 
You drive the jest too far; His too severe 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 31 

To brand a blockhead in your angry strains, 
For what he cannot help — his want of brains ! 

P. Be answered thus — his itching after fame, 
His bold obtrusive vanity I blame; 
Not the true dulness that inspires his lays, 
But the false pride that makes him covet praise. 

F. Then censure all mankind, for who is free ? 

The flame that warms their bosoms dwells with thee. 

In search of fame the soldier travels far, 

The smirking lawyer courts it at the bar; 

Th' intrepid seaman wins it at his post, 

The man of virtue when he shuns it most; 

The anxious poet claims it as his ilue, 

And (pr'ythee speak with candour) so do you, 

P. Thus candid, I reply — if now and then 
Success attend the labours of my pen, 



32 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

If those who buy my works, and those who read, 
Applaud — and that's a rarity indeed ! 
Pm not so proud, so squeamishly severe, 
But honest Fame is pleasing to mine ear. 
But that I write for that short-hVd renown 
Which Fashion gives the votaries of the town, 
I cannot grant — for mark ! the gift divine 
Was Darwin's once, and Busby may be thine. 

Athirst for Fame, which Magazines, Reviews, 

Too coy, deny the labours of his muse ; 

My Lord (what will not vanity afford?) 

Invites a host of Critics to his board; 

Some creeping, slip-shod hirelings of the day, 

W T hom Co lb urn* treats with " double pots and pay." 

* Mr. Colburn, proprietor of u The New Monthly Magazine," a 
work composed of the very sweepings of Grub Street, 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 33 

" My friends/' he cries, u speak freely, tell me plain, 

What say the public to my epic strain ?" 

Will they speak truth, too poor to be sincere ? 

But I may surely whisper in thine ear, 

I who abhor a bribe; — then this — thy rhymes 

In dulness rival past and present times; 

So lame — the weary audience think they see 

Old Settles doggrel new reviv'd by thee; 

So bad — that worse will ne'er be seen again 

Unless thou should'st resume thy scribbling vein. 

From such pursuits 'twould turn thy trifling mind, 
Hadst thou but, Janus-like, a face behind; 
To mark the lolling tongue, the side-long leer, 
The pointed finger, the contemptuous sneer, 



34 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

And all the silent mockeries of the town 
That ridicule thy title to renown : 
But thou must feast on flattery all thy days, 
And be the dupe of ev'ry blockhead's praise *. 

* Doctor Busby, or (as he is frequently called) Doctor Energy , 
from his constant use of the terms " energy* and " energetic" is | 
very profuse of his compliments to those authors who subscribed to 
his translation of Lucretius: we have names " unknown to Phoebus" 
enumerated for a whole page together. Lord Thurlow% " Hermilda 
in Palestine" is said to have afforded much pleasure to the lovers of 
fine poetry; and Major James has a long paragraph dedicated to 
his poetical talents. Next to the celebrated Martinus Scriblerus, 
Doctor Busby is undoubtedly the most profound explorer of the 
Bathos; take the following as a specimen — 

" From her this first, this sovereign rule I bring, 
All Nature's substances from substance spring, 
The gods from nothing ne'er made any thing." 
But the most wonderful effort of all, is the Doctor's account of 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 35 

For mark their judgment, hear their quaint reply — 
— When genius rears its head shall slander die ? 
A brother's fame what brother bard endures? 
Thus envy follows merit great as yours. 
You try the epic strain — in colours true 
A second Homer rises forth to view! 
All hearts you captivate, all tastes you hit, 
With Hammond's tenderness, and Prior's wit.— 



" Atoms!' — " These, {i. e. the atoms) moving from all eternity 
through immeasurable space; meeting, concussing, rebounding, 
combining, amassing according to their smooth, round, angular, and 
jagged figures, have produced all the compound bodies of the universe, 
animate and inanimate. The more clearly and compactly they lie, 
the more the body they form approximates to perfect solidity ; as the 
coalition is less intimate, it will be more vacuous and rare," &c. &c. — 
Very new and very learned. Who is this after? Johnson, I sup- 
pose— and a long while after him too. 



36 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Thus flattered by the minions of his board, 

Who struts, who swells, who scribbles like My Lord * 



The following impromtu was written on reading Doctor Busby's 
List of Subscribers to bis translation of Lucretius. 

Homunculi quanti sunt, cum recogito ! 

Plautus 
Now I recollect, bow considerable are these little men ! 

" Good Doctor! what a motley tribe 
Thy zeal has tempted to subscribe," 

(Cry'd Phoebus in amaze ;) 
:< Pert wits, who murder sense and time 
As Dulness prompts, in prose and rhyme^ 

For profit, pride, or praise. 

" What mortal ever heard the names 
Of Carysfort or Major James, 
Twin brethren of the quill ? 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 3J 

And soon he rises in a feverish dream 
A first-rate poet — in his own esteem. 

Who, (harmless scribblers !) strange to tell, 
Were never prais'd for writing well, 
Or blam'd for writing ill. 

" If thou wert bent, with heart so hard, 
To crucify the Roman bard, 
And sacrifice his fame, 

What need hadst thou, devoid of grace, -\ 

a 

To summon all the Grub-Street race, ± 

i 

To testify his foul disgrace, J 

And glory in his shame? 

" So Vulcan, in a jealous pet, 
Caught Mars and Venus in a net; 

And then, their fame to ruin, 
Invited (rude uncivil bear!) 
The gods and goddesses to stare, 

And laugh at their undoing." 



3S THE MODERN DUXCIAD. 

Thurlow* (alas! will Thurlow never tire?) 
New points his dulness, and new strings his lyre; 
That lyre which rang the praises in our ears 
Of" godlike' 7 princes, and " transcendant" peers; 
And rashly gave (the oddest whim on earth) 
To Spencer f talents, and to Holland worth; 



* Were Lord Tburlow's talents equal to his industry, he would be 
the greatest poet that ever lived : but what he lacks in quality, he 
makes up in quantity. In addressing His Royal Highness the Prince 
Regent, he uses the following most miraculous ascription : — u Thames 
by thy victories is set on fire!" — Posterity (should any book of Lord 
Thurlow's ever reach posterity) will, no doubt, highly blame the his- 
torian for suppressing this act of the royal Incendiary. 



f Lord Spencer is a most amiable and munificent nobleman. — I 
think the epithet applied to his Lordship's talents is " super-human," 
Lord Thurlow should be cautious of drawing ridicule upon his friends 
by such indiscriminate praise. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 39 

With quick dispatch his teeming brain unloads, 
Then issue forth Acrostics, Sonnets, Odes; 
Loud empty bombast, flights of false sublime, 
Not prose indeed — but tortured prose in rhyme. 
F. Shall Blood Patrician no distinction claim ? 
Dwell there no virtues in a noble name? 
Is Title nothing? Wealth? Pray learn for once 
One grain of prudence :— • 

P. To respect a Dunce ! 
Bow, flatter, dedicate, and bend the knee, 
A mean dependant — this advice to me ? 
No, let me rather in affected drawl, 
Write hymns with Collyer*, idiot tales with Ball| ; 



* The following verses are extracted from a book of hymns, writ- 
ten by Doctor Collyer. 



40 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Turn Commentator grave, and pore content 
To find a meaning where there's nothing meant; 
Than shield from censure undeserving strains, 
Because, forsooth, they spring from noble brains. 

" Leaning on thy dear faithful breast 

May I resign my breath \ 
And in thy soft embraces lose 

The bitterness of death. 

" In the shelter of thy side, 

Wounded by the cruel spear, 
From impending wrath I hide, 

Wrath which caimot reach me here, 

" From thy head, thy hands, thy feet, 

Flows the purifying Hood ; 
See ! I plunge, — I rise to meet 

Justice reconcil'd by blood." 

Had the first verse been addressed to bis Anna, his Delia, or his 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 41 

Not fools alone, as mad examples strike; 

This metromania reigns in all alike: 

Both wit and dunce the restless muse inspires 

With equal rage, though not with equal fires; 

Not Byron stands acquitted of the crime, 

A promise made in prose, he breaks in rhyme. 

Laura Maria, it would not have been so much out of character. 
But what have we in the sequel? The Doctor hiding himself in 
the shelter of his Saviour's side, and plunging into his blood! Can 
any thing be more indecent than such expressions? 



f " The Idiot Boy ; a Spanish Tale of Pity" written by Mr. 
Edward Ball, and pitiful enough in all conscience ; take the follow- 
ing as a sample : — 

" O Lady, all the valley sigh 

For such an helpless spirit fled, 
Who can restrain the humid eye ? 
Know Clara's Idiot Boy is dead." 
Harmony , Metre, and Grammar / 



42 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Hark ! Printers' Devils say, or seem to say, — 

" No rest have we, Fitzgerald*, night or day; 

For thee, vain man, a weary watch we keep, 

Nor sleep enjoy — although thy readers sleep. 

Does Southey pause, or paper-staining Scott 

One moment's respite grant, a page to blot; 

Thy hobbling Pegasus, a sorry hack, 

Still faintly drawls to keep us on the rack. 

Should e'er the fates condemn thee for thy crimes, 

(For thou to Sense art traitor in thy rhymes,) 

For paper wasted, ink so idly spilt, 

Yet kindly bid thee*chuse what death thou wilt; 

* Mr. Fitzgerald is a very loyal, voluminous, and dull writer. I 
shall not attempt to analyse his numerous productions, which may 
extend to some twenty thousand lines. Mr. Fitzgerald is prologue- 
speaker to the Literary Fund ; and in this instance, I admire his 
principles more than his poetry. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 43 

Think, think on Clarence; he (a bold design!) 
Resolv'd to perish by his favourite wine; 
Thy volumes round thy neck to make thee sink, 
O! let 'em drown thee in thy favourite ink /'* 

Where old Blackfriars pours her sable sons, 

A mingled tribe of Critics, Bards, and Duns, 

Dwelt Phillips, an industrious plodding Wight, 

And by the king's good favour dubb'd a Knight; 

A bookseller was he, and sooth to say, 

Not Nichols* had more authors in his pay. 



* Nothing disrespectful is intended by the introduction of 
this gentleman's name ; it is with pleasure that I behold, in a green 
old age, one of the last members of the venerable Johnsonian 
School: " Fortunate Senex!" the recollection of his past days 
must be peculiarly grateful, when, in the decline of life, he beholds 



44 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

At Verse and Prose so ready were the host, 
'Twas emulation which should scribble most; 
And Pratt himself would undertake an ode, 
In one short ramble on the Hampstead Road. 
But high above the rest, distinguished far, 
As Bard and Tourist, shone the mighty Carr! 
Of scribes the chief! and once upon a time 
The undisputed lord of prose and rhyme. 
Hist'ries he wrote, and etchings he would draw 
Of towns and cities — which he never saw : — 



those bright stars, which once illumined the literary horizon, partak- 
ing of that immortality which is reserved for genius and virtue. 
Mr. Nichols is a man of unblemished worth and considerable talents ; 
bis " Literary Anecdotes" form one of the most entertaining books 
in our language* 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 45 

And traveled daily o'er much foreign land, 
(More vvond'rous still!) — in Bridge-Street or the 

Strand*.— 
And hence arose, with all his boasted care, 
Some odd mistakes, which made the reader stare. 
Thus German dames were beauteous to the sight, 
The French profoundly grave, the Dutch polite ; 
The Scotch unwarlike, and St, Patrick's sons 
Too dull by half to relish jokes and punsf. 

* '• O day and night but this is wond'rous strange!" 
exclaims some astonished reader, who is unacquainted with the mys- 
teries of Sir Richard's manufactory ; but his wonder will cease when 
he is informed that Sir John Carr is one of those gentlemen who per- 
form their travels up four pair of stairs. It was not until the ap- 
pearance of " My Pocket Book" that the public were completely let 
into the secret of Sir John's Art of Book-making. 



► 



f The Irish are by nature punsters : the following may serve as a 
specimen of an Irish pun, or blunder. 



46 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Did Critics sneer at some unlucky guess ? 

Sir John's own bulls were — errors of the press: 

And lest upon his back the rod should fall, 

The printer's devils were to blame for all. 

But soon Sir Richard found, (sagacious elf!) 

The Knight lov'd money, and his works the shelf; 

Whereat Sir Richard, of his bargain sick, 

And heartily repenting of the trick, 

Consigned the quartos to a different fate, 

And eas'd his counter of their pondVous weight; 

To pastry-cooks dispers'd them sheet by sheet, 

By which Sir John was read in every street; 



♦ 



Says Johnny to Paddy, " this river I'd cross, 

But where to take water I'm quite at a loss." 

" Take water f r cries Pad, u why I'm all in a shiver! 

You fool, an't there water enough i?i the river 2** 



« 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 47 

Propitiation just, by all confest, 

For martyred truth, " and history made a jest*." 

Some love a jingling rhyme with all their heart, 

Where love and nonsense bear an equal part; 

Like Rosa's sonnets, in themselves a host, 

Rosa, the Sappho of the Morning Post; 

Or Hafiz' Madrigals, but rarely seen, 

A heap of sounding words which nothing mean. 

Some authors love in epic strains to soar, 
And swell to be what Homer was before; 
Thus Asptrn's day and Talaveras fight, 
Have made some scribblers in their own despight, 

* IMITATION. 
" Truth sacrific'd, and History made a jest." 

GlFFORC 



48 THE iMODERN DUNCIAD. 

Others the dupes of an infectious rage, 
Ransack the dulness of a former age ; 
For rare, moth-eaten parchments search the land. 
And poring much, but little understand. 
There mote you spy the pedant deep y-read, 
In useless heaps of learned lumber dead, 
Damning all modern wit as dull, absurd, 
Since the bright days of Caxton and De Word. 
So when some Virtuoso* smuggles home 
The mutilated blocks of Greece and Rome, 
Heads, noses, arms, our curious eyes engage, 
We prize their beauty much, but more their age; 



* I cannot resist the opportunity of introducing an epigram upon 
a certain Virtuoso. 

Noseless himself, he brings home noseless block-. 
To shew what time has done, and what the ***! 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 49 

Not Chantrey's art so wonderful appears, 
It wants the sanction of three thousand years. 

How oft some new-fledg'd bardling on the wing, 
Essays a puny flight, and tries to sing, 
Whose trifling muse by folly nurtured long, 
Ne'er soared above a rebus or a song. 
On frozen banks the purple violets rise, 
And roses bloom beneath December skies; 
For contrarieties in place and time 
Our poets think allowable in rhyme*. 



* Mr. W. Taylor, author of " Parnassian Wild Shrubs," begins 
his volume as follows — 

Ever pleasing ! ever new ! 
Never tiresome to the view ! 



50 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

To doggrel verse, where sense is never found, 
(An easy task) we give the charm of sound : 
Thus, — " With percussive palm the door assails*, 
" Now scrapes the gritty wall with bleeding nails, 
" Now running round, help ! help ! with shrill alarms, 
" Help ! help ! help ! help ! and writhes her frantic arms, 
" O live, my joy, my solace! sobs she wild; 
" Why do you gaze on me, my heavnly child? 

Novelty! of varied hue, 
Much I love to gaze on you y 
Thou who ever art the same. 



* See " Woman," a Poem, written by the profound Mr. Eaton 
Stannard Barrett. Mr. Taylor and Mr. Barrett make a very tolera- 
ble pair ; Mr. Taylor has more absolute dulness, and Mr. Barrett 
more empty conceitedness; Mr. Taylor whines, and Mr. Barrett 
frisks; — but I will pursue the parallel no further, for there is no 
settling the point of precedence between a Louse and a Flea. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 5\ 

" She sees not, hears not ! Speak, in mercy move ! 
" Here, here is milk — awake, my love, my love! !" 
F. All this is sorry trash, and well may claim 
The rod of satire — hear a nobler name : — 
— et Of man's first disobedience/' — 

P. Stop, I pray; 
Nor with our would-be poets of the day 
Name One, who, hateful prejudice apart, 
Has reached the glorious summit of his art ! 
Let modern poetasters rhyme their fill, 
To charm an hour we've Pope and Milton still; 
And solitude shall never fail to please, 
While it can boast companions such as these, 
Hence all ye little bards ! 

F. Restrain thy gall, 
Does modern merit claim no praise at all? 



52 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Shall not applause attend on Southey's strain? 
Must Byron, Scott, and Rogers sing in vain? 
P. Think not to such, applause I would deny, 
Or view their beauties with a jaundic'd eye; 
I mark each nobler effort of the lyre, 
I feel a poet's warmth, and must admire. 
But when you speak of that poor bauble, Fame;— 
How few deserve it! Yet what numbers claim. 

To Southey, well-combined, at once belong 

Truth, grandeur, force, variety of song; 

All that exalted genius can inspire, 

A poet's rashness, with a poet's fire. 

But still his faults (this candour must allow 

Spite of the courtly laurel on his brow) 

Would mar the force of many a modern rhyme. 

And quite obscure a genius less sublime. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 53 

Whene'er I read (nor think me too severe) 
Aught childish in his works that grates my ear*, 
I turn to " MadocV grand, sublimer lays, 
And hate the line that speaks in his dispraise. 
F. To Scott you'll grant some portion of renown ; 
The man has pleased — 

P. Aye, surfeited the townf. — 

* Mr. Southey has written much unmeaning bombast, not to say 
downright absurdity, since his appointment to the Laureatship : who 
can read with patience his congratulatory Odes, beginning with 
" Conqueror, deliverer, friend of human-kind ;" " Frederick the well- 
belov'd," and " Prince of the mighty Isle." — Virgil's fame rests upon 
one Epic Poem; Mr. Southey has already written three times that 
number; yet after all, I fear Virgil will be reckoned the greater poet. 



f It was a saying of Voltaire's, with reference to the number of 
his own writings, u that an author could never reach posterity with 
such a load at his back." Mr. Scott has written much good and bad 



54 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

How versatile his talents ! full of whim : — 

Bard, courtier, critic, all combined in him; 

And much I wish that he had spar'd his pains 

To edit Swift, and mangle Dry den's strains. 

Stifled with praise — and such, as I can say, 

I never gained, and hope I never may ; 

His careless muse neglects a nobler aim, 

And looks not to posterity for fame. 

Some deep romantic scene, where mouldering time 

Has mark'd each tow'r and battlement sublime; 

Where barbarous mirth, revenge, and feudal rage 

Shew the rude manners of a former age; 

Romances, by tradition only known, 

He paints with life and vigour all his own. 

poetry, and revisioti is absolutely necessary before his works can be 
received into the temple of Immortality. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 55 

The town is plea'sd when Byron * will rehearse, 
And finds a thousand beauties in his verse; 
So fiVd his fame — that write whatever he will, 
The patient public must admire it still; 
Yes, — though bereft of half his force and fire, 
They still must read, — and, dozing, must admire; 



* Lord Byron, like Mr. Scott, has raised a host of vile imitators : 
" Safie, an Eastern Tale," by J. H. Reynolds, after Lord B's man- 
ner, opens with this rhapsody: 

" Oh! peace had long rested in Assad's haram, 
Till the clang of arms, the war's alarum, 
Had scar'd the meek-ey'd damsel from 
Her fair abode, her smiling home. 
Happiest Assad ! then wast thou sharing 
The smiles of a maiden fair and free, 
As e'er whisper'd love is melody ; 
Ever fulfilling, and ever declaring, 
She kiss'd thee hence, when the steed was mounted," &c. &c. 



56 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

While you and I, who stick to common sense, 
To genius, taste, and wit, have no pretence. 
Throughout the whole we toil to understand; 
Where'er we tread — 'tis strange, 'tis foreign land; 
Nay, half the thoughts and language of the strain 
Require a glossary to make them plain. 
Beauties there are, which candour bids me own, 
Atone for these — for more than these atone; — > 
Beauties — which e'en the coldest must admire- 
Quick, high-wrought passion — true poetic fire — - 
Bold, energetic language — thoughts sublime— 
And all the artful cadences of rhyme. 

Nor less, for sterling genius, I admire 
Rogers' pure style, and Campbell's noble fire; 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 57 

Montgomery's* strain to taste and feeling true, 
That speaks the poet and the Christian too. 
Blest be the man with all that fame can give, 
Who burst the negro's chain, and bade him live; 
Blest be the bard with glory's brightest meed, 
Whose glowing verse immortalized the deed. 
Far as th' Atlantic rolls his rapid stream, 
A race shall hail the poet and his theme; 
And waft the sound to Guinea's distant shore, 
That tells her children they are slaves no more. 

* Mr. Montgomery's poems are distinguished for piety, tenderness, 
and high poetical painting ; his " World before the Flood," making 
allowance for some few inequalities, is a noble production ; the Death 
of Adam and Eve, in the Fourth Canto, is above all praise. Let 
Mr. Montgomery continue to be guided by his own good taste; pos- 
terity will at least do him justice, and his works will be read and es- 
teemed when those of his more successful contemporaries are no 
longer remembered. 



58 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

The praise we justly give to truth divine, 

Who can withhold from Crabbe's* unerring line? 



* Mr, Crabbe is in reality a bard of the old school; displaying an 
odd mixture of energy, and coarseness ; of sublimity, and ludicrous 
punning; of polished versification, and careless metre. I quote the. 
following passage for the sake of its oddity. It might pass for an 
excellent caricature imitation of Mr. Crabbe's general style. 

" Us'd to spare meals, dispos'd in manner pure, 
Her father's kitchen she could ill endure ; 
Where by the steaming- beef he hungry sat, 
And laid at once a pound upon his plate ; 
The swelling fat in lumps conglomerate laid, 
And fancy's sickness seized the loathing maid : 
But when the men beside their station took, 
The maidens with them, and with these the Cook ; 
When one huge wooden bowl before them stood, 
FilPd with huge balls of farinaceous food ; 
With bacon, mass saline, where never lean 
Beneath the brown and bristly rind was seen : 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 59 

A bard by no pedantic rules connVd, 

A rigid painter of the human mind. 

And long as nature in her simplest guise, 

Or virtuous sensibility we prize, 

Of well-earnM fame no poet shall enjoy 

A juster tribute than " The Farmer's Boy*/' 



When the coarse cloth she saw, with many a stain, 
Soil'd by rude hinds, who cut and come again — 
She could not breathe ; but, with a heavy sigh, 
Rein'd the fair neck, and shut th* offended eye ; 
She minc'd the sanguine flesh in frustrums fine, 
And wonder'd much to see the creatures dine." 

This is a description of a Farmers' Dinner, " Con amore." 



* M The Farmer's Boy," by Robert Bloomfield; one of the most 
beautiful Rural Poems in the English language. 



60 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Hail to departed worth !— see Scotland turns 
With trembling hand, to deck the tomb of Burns *. 
Ah, spare the fame such frail memorials give ! 
In his own works enshrin'd the bard shall live. 



* I observe that Scotland is about to erect a monument to the 
memory of Robert Burns. I hope she will not fail to inscribe upon 
it, how nobly she rewarded his talents. She took him from the 
plough, made him an exciseman, irritated his mind with indignities 
and disappointments, and ultimately gave him up to an untimely 
grave. The lively sallies of the Ayrshire bard startled the plodding 
dulness of his insensible countrymen; — the bigotted brethren of the 
northern metropolis beheld, with an evil eye, a poet who exposed 
their vices, ridiculed their superstition, and despised their ignorance. 
It is true that some kindred spirits stood forward as the friends of 
genius in distress; but what could the exertions of a few enlightened 
individuals do, in opposition to the combined efforts of fools in 
power? Scotland has much to answer for on the score of treachery : 
avarice once bribed her to deliver up her king, and has since promp- 
ted her to sacrifice her poets. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 6\ 

Of humble birth, but with a taste refined, 
An adverse fortune with a god-like mind, 
He silent bore, but keenly felt the smart, 
'Till bitter disappointment broke his heart. 
O ! when releas'd, his ardent spirit fled, 
How envy smil'd, how virtue mourn'd the dead, 
And Scotland's hills heard ev'ry tongue proclaim 
The minstrel's glory and his country's shame. — 
Then with the poet's fate inscribe his bust; 
In life despis'd, and canoniz'd in dust. 

Hail to departed worth ! o'er Cowper's bier* 
Let genius pause, — and drop her holiest tear: 

* I .never think upon Cowper but with the strongest emotions of 
pity and admiration ; and I can never bring myself to believe that 
the awful malady, under which he laboured, arose (as has been tot* 



62 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

To White's* cold turf a weeping pilgrim turn, 
And crown with bays her Grah ame's f hallow'd urn : 



often hinted,) from a sense of his having once M lived without God 
in the world:" 

" True piety is cheerful as the day" — 
are his own words: let us not therefore suppose that his religion was 
tinctured with melancholy, or that any former indiscretions could 
bare caused those dreadful moments of despair which stand recorded 
in his life. It was an evil inflicted by the hand of the Almighty. 

I cannot close this note without making some slight mention of 
©ne, whose memory must be dear to all true lovers of genius and 
virtue ; one, whose extensive learning, amiable manners, and high 
attainments, have done honour to his country, and to mankind — 

* Henry Kirke White, who died at Cambridge. 



f The late Rev. James Grahame, author of " The Sabbath," 
w British Georgics," &c, &c. an excellent poet, and most amiable 
man. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 63 

>Twas their's to shun the poet's flowery way, 
Of them religion ask'd a nobler lay; 
And well their lives its sacred influence caught, 
And justified the precepts which they taught. 
Religion, meek, benevolent, renVd, 
Breathes universal love to all mankind; 
And acting on this principle alone, 
Weeps for another's sorrows as her own. 



the late Richard Cumberland — " Magnum et venerabile nomen /" 
As a poet, his reputation is firmly established by his " Calvary," 
and many other pieces of sterling merit: his " Observer" bears am- 
ple testimony of his abilities, as a scholar, a critic, and an essayist ; 
while his " West Indian," <( Wheel of Fortune," and " Fashionable 
Lover," hold the foremost rank in modern comedy. I would re- 
commend for general perusal a small work written by him, and 
republished since his death, called " A few Plain Reasons why we 
should believe in Christ." 



6i THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Soft is her voice, and humble are her ways; 

Warm is her heart, and fervent is her praise; 

Fair deeds of virtue all her hours employ, 

She chides with meekness, and forgives with joy: 

Happy the soul that feels the ray divine, 

(A ray which sainted Porteus* beamed in thine,) 

With conscious pleasure she reviews the past, 

And confident in faith, awaits her last. 
F. Why this is praise ! — 

P. Not greater than is due :— 

I can withhold applause, and give it too; 

Above deceit, I scorn all venal ways; 

I freely censure, and I freely praise, 



* The late Bishop of London — a Prelate of great learning:, mode- 
ration, and Christian pietv. 



the" modern dunciad. 65 

If D****y call me rancorous decent Knight ! 

When he grows wiser, I'll grow more polite ; 

'Till then I laugh at ceremony's rules, 

And still include him in my list of fools. 

F. Why name you him ? 

P. To bring before the town 

A courtly coxcomb, though he wears a gown ; 

A Journalist* — and such a one heav'n knows! ^ 

I will not, reader, to offend thy nose, Y 

Rake up the dunghill of his filthy prose. J 

* This man, among other thitigs, is editor and proprietor of 
" The Morning Herald," a journal, displaying a strange mixture of 
ribaldry and falsehood ; he is likewise author of a farce called 
" At Home," in which Mr. Coates is personally ridiculed upon the 
stage, under the title of " Romeo Rant all*' Now Mr. Coates, like 
Parson D****y, is certainly no very consistent character ; but his 
fooleries are perfectly harmless. Quere — Which is the most con- 
temptible, a Clerical Flatterer, or a Theatrical Buffoon?. 



66 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 



Yet he can flatter with an awkward grace; 
Like some old dowager who chalks her face, 
He daubs so coarsely to display the saint, 
That the grey sinner stares beneath the paint. 
Let Scott * revile my writings to the town r 
As well I guess he would for half-a-crown ; 
Let Manners, just escaped from durance vile, 
Abuse, defame me in his Grub- Street style, 
In some catch-penny pamphlet, penn'd complete* 
ConceivM, begotten, born within the Fleet : 
" Pour on, I will endure!" — with scorn I view 
The worst that dulness and her sons can do, 

* One John Scott, a small Critic, and Editor of the " Champion/' 
Sunday newspaper. Mr. Scott has lately published u A Visit to 
Paris," an amusing compilation enough, but not very authentic: I 
rather suspect that Mr. Scott, like Sir John Carr, occasionally travels 
by proxy. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. ()7 

So fortune save my character and lays 
From D****y's hireling, prostituted praise. 
When Pasquin*, arm/d with libels, stalks by night, 
Lest prowling bailiffs intercept his flight; 
Pasquin, dull rogue ! who twenty years has made 
His pamphlets turn a profitable trade; 
How ****** dreads the vengeance of his muse, 
And ***** who has no character to lose, 



* Anthony Pasquin, Esq. alias Doctor John Williams : for some 
account of this personage, I refer the reader to Mr. Gifford's 
H Baviad," wherein his character, moral and literary, is very amply 
delineated. Anthony, who has so long " stared tremendous," has 
now completely sunk into oblivion, together with his pamphlets and 
criticisms. It is said (how truly I know not,) that the Doctor has a 
yearly benefit at the Haymarket Theatre, under the name of (i The 
TVidow Fairbur." — No bad device for one who considers any name 
better than his own; 



6S THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Quakes in his dark retreat; while you and I 
With upright confidence his rage defy. 
Unhappy Pasquin ! in thy latter days 
Pew fear thy wrath, none barter for thy praise; 
But all thy pointless darts, at random thrown, 
Hurt no one's name, but only d — n thine own. 

Stands Scotland wfrere it did? alas! no more— 
Since truant J*****yf flies his native shore: 

f The criticisms of this man in the Edinburgh Review are no- 
torious for their vulgarity and profaneness: he is now, it is said, 
gone to America, leaving the superintendance of his Journal to the 
Honourable Mr. Lambe, the Rev. Sydney Smith, and others. How 
far the predictions of these brutal Scotchmen have been verified, 
present times will shew: Montgomery is still read and admired, and 
their friend Buonaparte (0 spem fallaccm !) may be said to be 
" down amons the dead men." — 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 6 % 9 

For who among her sons, to speed their gains, 
(Her sons more fam'd for brimstone than for brains) 
Like him retrac'd the path which Kenrick trod, 
Traduc'd his country and blasphem'd his God? 
Mourn, Caledonia! let thy rocks reply; 
Nor Lambe, nor Sydney can his loss supply: 
Sydney has too much lead — and simple Lambe 
Retains the will, but wants the pow'r to damn; 

It is curious to read the recantation made by the Edinburgh Re- 
viewers after the failure of all their prophecies. Even Sir James 
Mackintosh and Mr. Brougham begin to be ashamed of their as- 
sociates, they are " quite chop fallen." My portrait of Mr. 
j*****y has been said to be too severe a likeness: — Oliver Crom- 
well, while sitting for his picture to Sir Peter Lely, desired the artist 
to paint him as he really was, with all his warts and hlotches. If 
then I have given a true resemblance of Mr. J*****y's mind, I am 
not to blame j I have only (like Sir Peter Lely) made a close copy of 
the original. 



70 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Too dull, alas ! to satisfy a pique, 

His heart is willing, but bis brain is weak; 

Nor Holland's Spouse*, nor Holland's mantling 

bowl, 
Can rouse from torpor his benighted soul. 
Illustrious Holland! doomed by angry fate 
To rack the muses, and reform the state; 
Consistent Peer ! unstain'd with courtly crimes, 
Save some few venial f spots, and doggrel rhymes; 



* Lord Byron says, — " My Lady skims the cream of each cri- 
tique," in the Edinburgh Review : — nay more — 

" Breathes o'er each page — (what, in the name of wonder?) 

her purity of soul** 
" Faugh !" — cried my uncle Toby. 



f This word has found a very familiar application of late day?. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. J\ 

His J*****y lost, — shall haply mount the throne, 
And execrate all dulness — but his own. * 

What though the grave may end the Poet's care. 
The spleen of Chalmers* still pursues him there; 



* Mr. Chalmers, like Doctor Morosophos, is a man of method ; 
well qualified to abridge Dictionaries and to put together Encyclo- 
pedias ; but an edition of the English Poets, with biographical and 
critical notices, was an undertaking infinitely beyond the slender 
powers of a mere compiler. Want of ability would hardly have pro- 
voked my censure, considering that Mr. Chalmers was treading in 
the. same path with Doctor Johnson; it is his want of candour 
that I complain of, although Mr. Chalmers has proved himself com- 
pletely ignorant of all that constitutes a true poet. I more particu- 
larly refer to his Life of Chatterton, where the melancholy story 
of that extraordinary youth is related with the most heartless indif- 
ference. Perhaps Mr. Chalmers's piety, like old Lady Lambert's 
in the Hypocrite, has rendered him callous to the miseries of man- 



72 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Scarce would th' ungrateful world allow him room. 
Yet Chalmers tears the laurel from his tomb ; 
Arid where some frailty asks a pitying tear, 
He frowns, and plays the moralist severe. 
Welcome each dunce of Cibber's lively school ! 
But save me from the solemn, canting fool; 
The heavy pedant, the laborious drone, 
Full of old saws and dogmas of his own, 

F. Some play or farce that gallery, box, and pit 
Applaud for solid sense and sterling wit, 
Name; — 



kind. I am, however, a true heretic, and must shed a tear over the 
infirmities of human nature. Sunt lacrymce rerum 9 et mentem mor- 
talia tangunt. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 7^ 

P. Why, methinks no puzzling task were this: 
The " Bee Hive," " Sleeping Beauty, 33 " Hit or 

Miss*!' 3 
Such scenes as Pocock, Skeffington produce, 
And rivaled but by Punch or Mother Goose, 
Our modern playwrights, unambitious elves, 
Trust to the actor more than to themselves; 
Some strange peculiarity they hit, 
A shrug and wink, well managed, pass for wit; 
And Liston's idiot stare, and Oxb'ry's bray, 
Have sav'd (with shame I speak it) many a play. 

* Three very popular pieces of absurdity. " The Sleeping 
Beauty" is the production of Mr. Skeffington ; the " Bee Hive/* 
and " Hit or Miss," are from the pen of Mr. James Pocock. Mr. 
Mathews gave the oaths in the latter piece to admiration ; and 
" Prime, bang up /" superseded the former polite phrases of " Push 
on, keep moving I Damme , that's your sort /" 



74 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Would you to rapture raise the vulgar throng, 
Let Mathews play the fool, and sing bis song: 
A thousand tongues shall roar at Fawcett's croak, 
And Munden's jaws pass current for a joke. 
F. Why slumbers Sheridan* in this dull age? 
Why thus a willing truant from the stage, 



* Who does not lament that this great man should pass the re- 
maining portion of his days in pursuits wholly inconsistent with his 
talents and rank in life? Of all the distinguished characters of the 
present age, I canuot name one who, in my estimation, has had (and 
I grieve to say, neglected) so many opportunities of rendering him- 
self nobly popular. But while I lament that he has not done more, 
let me not forget to acknowledge what he has done. If these lines 
should ever be fortunate enough to meet his eye, he will see that 
my admonition is dictated by the high respect that I entertain for 
his talents : it is not for the brilliant wit and the enlightened states- 
man to exclaim — 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. J$ 

Views he unmov'd the sickly taste that draws 
Dishonest fame, and panders for applause ? 
Why not revive the times that once have been. 
When wit and humour grac'd the comic scene; 
And Folly, dragged before the public view, 
Blushed to behold her image drawn so true ? 
P. Would wit and humour please the swinish crowd, 
While Dibdin, Poole*, and Reynolds croak so 
loud ? 

" Mihi sit proposition in taberna mori ; 
Vinum sit appositum morientis ori; 
Ut dicanty cum venerint angelorum chori, 
Deus sit propitius huic Potatori.*' 
Let him attend — and the name of Sheridan may still be the admi- 
ration of posterity. 



* Mr. John Poole, author of " Hamlet Travestie," and the dra- 
matic pieces of " Intrigue'* and " The Hole in the Wall." 



76 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

How would the boxes storm, the galleries rage, 
To see their favourites banish'd from the stage; 
And call aloud, ere sense could be restored, 
For Laurent's grin, and Ridgway's magic sword? 
Heav'ns ! could such scenes engage the public mind, 
Did virtue, truth, or sense, remain behind? 
In vain we boast of Shakspeare's mighty pow'r. 
For music now must charm the vacant hour; 
Otway, no more we drop a tear with thee, 
For song and dance are all we hear and see ; 
Except when Kemble*, to delight the few, 
Restores immortal Shakspeare to our view. 

* Let me not be called hyperbolical when I assert that Mr. Kem- 
ble is equal to any tragic actor, ancient or modern. He is both a 
scholar and a gentleman, and consequently no favourite with the 
" groundlings." Some call him pedantic — I uphold that he is clas- 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 77 

F. Say who's to blame ? 

P. The sottish town that pays 
The fool with laughter, — not the bard with praise ; 
That looks for, in distortion and grimace, 
Nature's soft ease, and wit's enchanting grace. 

sical. For a specimen of his astonishing powers, I might advert to 
almost every great character in tragedy; but I will confine myself to 
one in which the immortal Garrick so much excelled — King Lear : 
here Mr. Kemble not only rose above himself, but above every other 
actor in my remembrance. The manner in which he gave the curse 
upon Goneril, in the First Act, was too heart-rending for the human 
feelings; the whole audience rose — it was a moment of enthusiasm, 
such as conception can hardly reach, and language never adequately 
describe — 

M I can't find words, and pity those that can !" 

Since the above was written, the public have been very nearly 
deprived of this great ornament of the English stage ; his health is 
now happily re-established, and — 

Grande munus 
Cecropio repetat cothurno. 



78 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

'Tis not enough that the rude gallery folks 
Admire thy genius, and applaud thy jokes; 
That clapping theatres the benches shake 
Less for thy merit, than contention's sake; 
Bold in thyself, uphold the Drama's laws; 
Nor basely pander for a mob's applause. 
To win, employ the graces of thy style, 
Not the loud laugh, but the approving smile; 
To Hook and Dimond leave the noisy crew, 
Content to number the judicious few; 
Nor let thy wit, like bards of little worth, 
Offend our reason, to provoke our mirth. 

Once 'twas the fashion, in an earlier day, 

For two, at least one plot to form a play; 

But our sage authors frugally dispense 

With plots; nay, more — with nature, wit, and sense ; 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 79 

Through five long acts their weary audience lull, 
Most cold and tasteless, most perversely dull. 
For me no blind disciple of the schools 
That laugh and cry by Aristotle's rules; 
I loathe the fool whose humour lies in trick, 
While sentimental trumpery makes me sick; 
And" Ohs!" and«Ahs!" and " Dammes .'" mo- 
dern wit — 
Can please me never, though they please the pit. 
Yet not a Cynic, nor devour'd by spleen, 
I needs must smile if Colman grace the scene; 
Let humour broad, with polish'd wit combine, 
No faculties more risible than mine: 
But shall I laugh because some antic droll 
Squints in my face? — I cannot for my soul! 



SO THE MODERN DUNCIAD, 

F. Morton writes comedy. 

P. Pd quite forgot — 
Without the aid of character or plot. 
Is Morton right? — then wrong are ancient schools, 
And Congreve, Farq'har, Wycherly were fools 
Who thought true wit to comedy allied, 
And studied nature as their surest guide. — 
Humour he has, I grant, but much too low, 
And high-flown sentiment and fustian woe ; 
To each extreme incautious Morton runs, 
His sorrow moves more laughter than his puss 

F. I'll name O'Keefe. — 

P. I can't be grave with him, 
A rare compound of oddity and whim ! 
His native ease, his quaint amusing style. 
And wit grotesque would make a stoic smile. 



THE MODERN DUNCXAD. 81 

Ye who have laugh'd when Lingo trod the stage, 

(Before this dull and sentimental age) 

Be grateful for the merriment he gave, 

And smooth his cheerless passage to the grave. 

Tread lightly here — for though no marble weeps, 
'Tis sacred ground — beneath, a poet sleeps: — 
Spare flatt'ry now, it cannot charm his ear, 
But give the silent tribute of a tear. 
Lamented Tobin*! — but the muse disdains 
To mark with sorrow her indignant strains, 
A prouder joy might swell her glowing page, — 
Thy scenes have half redeem'd our modern stage. 



* Mr. John Tobin, author of " The Honey Moon," and u The 
Curfew." 



82 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

In times like these, when ev'ry forward dunce 
Starts up, good lord ! a dramatist at once, 
Could Jonson rise — how vain were his essay, 
Some nauseous wit would bear the palm awayf 
Yes! though perforce we hail a Jonson dead, 
A living Jonson p'rhaps might beg his bread* 

You blame my taste, if careless midst the roar, 
When noble critics hiccup out " Encore! 99 
As Catalani*, charming queen of sounds, 
Sings a bravura — for a hundred pounds ; 



* Monsieur Vallabrique lately made the modest demand of five 
hundred guineas per night for Madame Catalani to sing at a con- 
cert ! The presumption of this illiterate Frenchman is past all 
belief. Our nobility would do well not to encourage these foreign 
vagabonds ; who, if admitted to the smallest share of familiarity, 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 83 

Or blythe Deshayes all life and spirit swims 

Through the gay dance, and twirls his pliant limbs, 

I sit unmoved, a cold phlegmatic guest, 

Nor cry " Encore/" and u Bravo!" like the rest. 

Form'd in a coarser mould, untaught by art, 

I love the plainer language of the heart; 

No far-fetch'd song that strains the lab'ring throat, 

No squeaking eunuch's soft Italian note ; 

No attitude obscene 'gainst nature's plan, 

Which more bespeaks the monkey than the mam 

Merit stand by — for lo! with servile leer 

Some warbling Signior, elbow'd by a peer, 



. forget they are mere buffoons, and never fail to return it with the 
most disgusting impertinence. 



S4 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

A willing slave, now banter'd, now caressed, 
Kicked, laugh/d at, worshipp'd — as my lord thinks 

best! 
Advances forth, obligingly polite, 
To charm his friends — for fifty pounds per night. 
'Tis foreign all — no native talent here 
With artless, simple notes delights the ear ; 
But sounds that least of harmony partake, 
Much lengthened quaver, and affected shake; 
A heterogeneous mass — God help the while! 
Which p'rhaps the cognoscenti christen (< style." 
Thus fool'd — and thus instructed by the tribe, 
Their follies with their pleasures we imbibe, 
Till by degrees we grow, like them, debas'd, 
Corrupt in morals, as deprav'd in taste. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 85 

This shameful truth let slighted genius tell, — - 
In vain in arts Britannia's sons excel, 
Since Britain proves, through prejudice alone, 
A friend to evVy genius, but her own. 

How Dulness smil'd on that auspicious morn, 
When high enthroned, the butt of public scorn, 
She pompous saw her favourite Arnold sit 
In Drury's fane the arbiter of wit. 
" My son," the joyful mother cry'd, and then 
Into his trembling ringers thrust a pen, 
44 Something thou shalt produce — no matter what — 
An old romance supplies thee with a plot; 
Then steal or borrow, to cajole the folks, 
Tom D'Urfey's madrigals, and Miller's* jokes: 

* Mr. Joseph Miller, the famous jester; whose book of puns has 



86 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

All these together in confusion thrown, 
Well sprinkled with some nonsense of thine own ; 
And some odd scraps, by Colman thrown away, 
Will (Holt* can answer for it) make a play. 
Long may'st thou live to prove the scourge of sense, 
And nurture folly at a large expence ! 



been of infinite service to our modern Farce- wri te rs ; and to none 
more so than Mr. Samuel Arnold. 



* Mr. Holt wrote a Comedy, called " The Land we live in," 
which was very properly hooted from the stage. This gentleman 
suffered a severe castigation from the pen of Jew Brandon, in a pre- 
face to his Opera of " Kais." It seems that Mr. Holt had attacked 
Mr. Brandon's piece, " The Idol which Nebuchadnezzar the King 
had set up." — As the offence was committed six years ago, I hope 
the parties are by this time reconciled : 

" Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor, 
But fool with fool is barb'rous civil war." 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 87 

To catch each novelty, howe'er absurd ; 

And raise all hell, as Faustus gives the word. 

Though Pol i to, to make the people stare, 

Erects his annual booth at Smithfield Fair, 

Where lions roar with wide distended jaws, 

And grinning serpents hiss with vast applause; 

How vain are all his efforts to out-do! — 

— Old Drury's stage shall boast its monsters too. 

But if, with equal emulation nVd, 

Thy rival Harris hath each monster hir'd, 

(A genuine son, a kindred spirit he, 

And second in my love to none, but thee;) 

Let Raymond take some fierce Rhinoceros 9 shape, 

And Oxb'ry be transformed into an Ape; 

Next let thy talents find their proper use, 

Do thou, as best becomes thee, play the Goose; 



88 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Then all shall own, while they admire the cast, 

Thcu'st found thy fittest character at last. 

See how ray children in one cause unite, 

Lo, Larpbnt* reads! while Hook and Reynolds 

write ; 
Dull Erinsley sleeps, and should he wake again, 
I fear some revolution in our reign ; 
But Kotzebue's bombast, fearing to expire, 
Stole the last spark of his immortal fire/' 

To drain our wealth what numbers cross theraainf, 
Fiddlers from France, and mountebanks from Span; 

* Mr. LarpeDt is the very erudite supervisor (I will Dot say 
reader) of Plays, Farces, Interludes, and Pantomimes, under tne 
Lord Chamberlain. 



f Shakspeare throws out a pleasant sarcasm at the idle curiosity 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 89 

From Italy a host of warbling slaves, 
From Holland grave mynheers, egregious knaves : 
There Indian jugglers ply their trade for hire, 
And here a Prussian lady swallows fire; 
While rushing crowds assemble far and near, 
What to behold? — a Cossack and his spear! 
When Polito might gratify their view 
With sights as ugly, and as human too. 



of the English nation, in a sentence which he puts into the mouth of 
Trinculo, in the Tempest. Upon first beholding Caliban, the clown 
exclaims — u A strange fish ! were I in England now (as once I was,) 
and had but this fish painted, not a holiday-fool there but would 
give a piece of silver : there would this monster make a man ; any 
strange beast there makes a man : when they will not give a 
doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead 
Indian." 



90 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

But most to thee, O Germany ! we owe 
Our choicest stock of rarities below; 
Counts, gamesters*, princes, jostling side by side, 
Thy low-born offal, and thy high-dutch pride, 
All who for wit or want their country leave, 
Kind, we invite, and grateful, we receive: 
Thus cramm/d — imposed on, much beyond our due, 
'Tis hard, methinks, to send us poets too ! 
Our taste is German — and our wives will say, 
How pure the doctrine of a German play ! 



* A German count and a gamester are nearly synonimous terms : 
even many of the highest of the nobility resort to play, to improve 
their narrow fortunes. The celebrated George Selwyn, being 
haughtily commanded by some petty elector to quit bis kingdom in 
three days, replied, — " Please your highness I will look upon your 
dominions in half an hour" 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 91 

Where vice appears so innocently dress'd, 
We almost fancy cuckoldom a jest*; 
For the frail nymph so well her crime defends, 
The couple weep, embrace, and soon are friends + ! 

Nor stop we here — strange farragos succeed, 

(** Oh horrible! most horrible indeed!") 

* As in the cases of Lady H**l**d, Lady J****y, and other illus- 
trious courtezans, who appear at dr g r — ms — 

" Where never wh**e approaches, 

Unless they ride in their own coaches,'* 



f Literally the case : a passage from Doctor Young's tragedy of 
the " Revenge" is not here inapplicable. — Zanga, addressing Alonzo 
concerning his wife's supposed infidelity, remarks — 

" If you forgive, the world will call you good; 

If you forget, the world will call you wise; 

If you receive her to your grace again, 

The world will call you verify very kind" 



92 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Undaunted Ireland* dares the mighty test, "i 

i 

Although, in raising spirits and the rest, }- 

Lewis without a rival stands contest. J 

Though sprites appear obedient at his will, 
Ghosts are but ghosts; and demons, demons still; 
Alike in matter, and in form the same : — 
Hobgoblins differ only — in the name: 
Yet Lewis trembles lest his fame be won, 
And Mistress Radcliffe fears herself outdone. 



* Mr. Ireland bas written a great number of romances, full of 
the most ridiculous diablerie ; in one of them is the merry incident 
of " a little red woman" being yearly whipped round the abbey 
cloisters by the devil ! 

It is needless to enter into the particulars of Mr. Ireland's forgery 
•of the Shaksperian manuscripts ; the public are already too well ac- 
quainted with them. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 93 

But these are harmless, satire must confess, 
To the loose novels of Minerva's Press; 
Such melting tales as Meeke and Rosa tell 3 
For pious Lane, who knows his readers well, 
Can suit all palates with their difPrent food, 
Love for the hoyden, morals for the prude. 
Behold, with reams of nonsense newly born, 
Th* industrious train who scribble night and morn; 
Five pounds per volume*! their enormous bribe: — 
Enough, methinks, to tempt a hungry scribe. 



* And a very liberal price truly, considering the great deprecia- 
tion that has taken place in the value of waste paper, owing to se- 
veral cart-loads of newly-published novels from the Minerva Library- 
having lately come into the market for circulation ; by which it 
would appear, that the paper currency of Grub-Street is somewhat 
upon the decline. 



94 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

First Lady Morgan*, Amazonian Fair! 
(Ye gods! what will not Lady Morgan dare?) 
With four octavo volumes shocks the sight; 
For who can read as fast as she can write r 
Next fair Llewellyn*!, modestly indeed, 
Would have us name her works, as well as read; 



* Innumerable are the caterers for the Minerva Library : we 
have Lady Morgan, (late Miss Owenson, very much a-miss as a 
punster would say,) Mrs. Meeke, Rosa Matilda, Bridget Bluemantle, 
Ann of Swansea, Honoria Scott, Captain Hewitsone, Captain Wil- 
liamson, Cervantes Hogg, Esq. Mr. Theodore 'Melville, Francis 
Lathom, " A Native Officer," and a whole tribe of " single and of 
double pinks" who live upon the bad taste of the public ; for 

<( Dulness all her children viewing, 

Kindly bounteous > cares for all.'" 



f "Read, and give it a Name," a Novel, in four volumes, by 
Mrs. Llewellyn, 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 95 

Which to perform, in language just and brief, 
Let u bawdry" be inscrib'd on every leaf. 
Matilda toils the prom isM boon to win,. 
And Ann of Swansea wades through thick and 

thin; 
While Bridget Bluemantle's eternal scrawl 
Makes truly more waste paper than thern all. 
Would you with blushes tinge the virgin cheek. 
Read "Midnight Weddings/' penn'd by Mrs, 

Meeke: 
Soft amorous stories by Honoria Scott*, 
Of ravishments, seductions, and what not: 
Or Gunning's tales, for Gunning, to my taste, 
Is sprightly, witty, any thing — but chaste: 

* " Amatory Tales of Spain, France, Switzerland, and the Medi- 
terranean ;" by Honoria Scott, 



96 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Or " Rival Princes/' anger's latest spark, 
Pride of them all, and worthy Mrs. Clarke. 

I pass in silence, authors not a few ; 

Cervantes Hogg*, and all the Grub-Street crew: 

Alas! more worthy of contempt than rage, 

Their worthless names would but defile my page: 

The muse shall never gibbet them on high, 

Obscurely as theyhVd, why let them die. 

F. 'Tis pitiful — but why indulge your spleen? 

Will all this useless railing mend the scene ? 

Your satire is too pointed, too severe f, 

And little suited to the public ear. 

* Cervantes Hogg, Esq. author of the " Rising Sun," and the 
" Barouche Driver and his Wife;" most despicable catch-penny trash. 



+ " Ah Bnzzy smell you in the dark!" whispered Doctor 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. QJ 



Holland, who now and then, to serve his ends 
Invites some score of literary friends, 

Johnson to his friend James Boswell, as they passed by night 
through the streets of Edinburgh, not inaptly denominated the Spice 
Islands j and I think I can discover the dull invective of Mr. Hew- 
son Clarke in the following lines, on the author of The Modern 
Dunciad, taken from the " Theatrical Inquisitor." 

" Just wise enough to play the fool, 

" Just learn' d enough to err by rule, 

" With vanity of monstrous size 

" That struts and swells, and would be wise ; 

" Instead of wit, with venom fraught ; 

u With owl-like mein that looks like thought, 

" Our sapient author rushes forth 

" Like the pale critics of the north, 

a And vainly tries with idle rhyme 

(e That flows in one poor ding-dong chime, 

M To blast the high unsullied name 

ee Of all the dearest sons of fame." 



9S THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Will meet you at his table with an air 

That plainly tells you have no business there. 

" Ye gods!" he cries, " shall I, who think sublime 

Matilda's motley hash of prose and rhyme, 

By one, who begs a dinner at my door, 

Be schooled — and play ( Sir Oracle' no more?" 

— Thus banish'd from his presence in disgrace, 

Methinks starvation stares you in the face. 

P. I guess you well — henceforth no verse of mine 

Shall question Rose's* title to "divine;" 

* Mr. William Stewart Rose composed a fearful quarto, called 
" Partenopex of Blois." — A very few extracts will give the reader 
some idea of Mr. Rose's facility in writing, what Ben Jonson calls 
" no language at nil" 

" With that 'twas wrought of fayery so dight" — 
" Melior in sooth it was, the sov'reign fay, 
The wardress of that keep and garden gay, 
She on the bed her dainty limbs down laid.* 9 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 99 

No more in critic gall I'll dip my quill, 

Let Feist* and CuoKERf scribble what they will; 

Yet Mr. Walter Scott has praised this young gentleman's poetry ; 
a piece of waggery that suggested the following lines: — 
Well sung the bard, in human nature wise — 
u Praise undeserved is Satire in disguise" 
Then who but owns that ought of candour knows, 
The praise of Scott a satire upon Rose ? 
A Bard forsooth ! 'twas verily too bad 
To draw such laughter on the simple lad ; 
'Twere better to have made him king at once, 
A man may be a King and still a Dunce, 



* An attorney's clerk, and a maker of verses. A droll story is 
told of Mr. Feist: he employed a printer to print his poems, sent for 
a dozen copies for himself, but entirely forgot to pay the expence 
of the publication. 

(( Wits have short memories, and dunces none." 



f I do not mean to class Mr. Croker with Mr. Feist. Mr. Croker 



100 THE MODERN DUKCIAD. 

Let dying Strephons void their monthly stutf, 

f * And d — d be he that first cries, * Hold, enough* V " 



is one of the best of the numerous class of middling poets, and Mr. 
Feist is the very worst of the lad. There are some passages in the 
-" Battles of Talavera" that I have read with pleasure. The dispo- 
sition of an army, the roaring of cannons, and the cries of the 
wounded, offer nothing new for description ; and the poet who can 

* I thought that my catalogue of dull authors had been nearly 
complete, when " the Amatory TVorks of Tmn Shujfletori" acci- 
dentally met my view. The writer of this volume would fain make 
the public believe that his trash is from the pen of Thomas Moore ; 
he therefore dates from Dublin, instead of from Grub-Street, As 
to literary merit, it is impossible to conceive a more abject perfor- 
mance; such a gallimaufry of obscene dulness has seldom issued 
from the British press. But a word in Tom Shuffleton's ear — who 
ever heard of the first edition of his doggrel? Tom, I suspect, has a 
happy knack of manufacturing title pages, and has made his second 
edition precede his first. 






THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 101 

F. Wisely resolv'd — since this contention ends, 

All Grub-street and the eourt shall prove your friends; 

write upon such subjects, so as even to be tolerated, may be said to 
have achieved something. The " Campaign," by Mr. John Gwil- 
liam, is also entitled to commendation. I shall here detain the 
reader with a few stanzas of my own, upon a similar subject. * 

THE WORN-OUT TAR. 

The ship was now in sight of land, 

And crowds from shore with joy did hail her; 
The happy hour was nigh at hand 

When each sweet lass would see her sailor : 
How gallantly she ploughs her way ! 

To England's shores returning back ; 
And ev'ry heart is light and gay, 

Except the heart of honest Jack. 

From hardy youth to vig'rous age 

With sturdy arm he stemm'd the wave, 

And in the battle's hottest rage 

He fought the bravest 'midst the brave ; 



102 THE xMODERN DUNCIAD. 

Brisk maids of honour quit their fond amours, 
And Little's am'rous page, to doat on yours. 



• 



And many a bitter sigh he gave, 

And scarce suppress'd the starting tear, 

He wish'd the sea had prov'd his grave, 
Some shot had clos'd his long career. 

For be was old, his frame was worn, 

His cheek had lost its manly hue 5 
Unlike his glory's rising morn 

When big with hope his fancy grew ; 
Yet was his heart as firm and true, 

In his lov'd country's cause as warm, 
As when he cheer'd his gallant crew 

To face the foe, or brave the storm. 

By time and toil, and sickness chang'd, 

From friends, from home, and kindred dear, 

For thirty tedious years estrang'd — 
When he, long-lost, shall re-appear, 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 103 

Why always Satire* ? chuse some milder theme. 
p. — Soft! 'tis the music of yon murm'ring stream — 

How will they start his voice to hear! 

And bless the day he ceas'd to roam, 
And fondly dry each grateful tear, 

And welcome the poor wand'rer home. 

* This question may be soon answered. — Satire presents new ob- 
jects every hour, so that an attentive observer can never want a sub- 
ject. Dryden, Pope, and Churchill, lashed the dunces of their time ; 
and Mr. GifFord, and the anonymous Author of the " Pursuits of 
Literature," have done much towards exposing those of the present 
day. A new generation has, however, sprung up, sufficient to em- 
ploy the pen of the Modern Satirist. But satire, to be useful, should 
be just; and the Author of the " Pursuits of Literature" has fallen 
into an error, in making the late Doctor Geddes, translator of the 
Historical Books of the Old Testament, an object of his censure. It 
was my good fortune, when a boy, to be acquainted with that pro- 
found scholar and excellent man; and his kindness to me in parti- 
cular, is among my most pleasing recollections. He possessed a 



104 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

F. 'Pshaw ! the mere cant of ev'ry tuneful tongue- 
P. Then say what scenes has nature yet unsung? 



Then, while the children climb his knees, 

And age and youth stand list'ning by, 
He'll tell when oft he plough'd the seas, 

Winds blew, and waves ran mountains high ; 
And while a tear bedews each eye, 

Declare, but in fault'ring tone, 
He saw the gallant Nelson die, 

And heard the hero's parting groan! 

truly benevolent heart, and took a real interest in the temporal and 
eternal welfare of his fellow-creatures: his conversation was elo- 
quent, argumentative, and full of deep research; yet, when in the 
company of youth, (and he was often in their company,) his beha- 
viour was in the highest degree kind and engaging. He was indeed 
the promoter and the sharer of their pastimes. He lired to an 
honorable old age, beloved by all who had the. happiness of knowing 
him ; and he died in the humble hope of being received into his fa- 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 10a 

The time has been when many a rural lay 
I tried, as life pass'd airily away; 



How, as he gloriously expir'd, 

Dread war a fiercer aspect wore ; 
And Britain's sons with vengeance fir'd 

Bade all their brazen cannons roar, 
'Till rude Trafalgar's rocky shore, 

And heaving Ocean's depths profound, 
Proclaim'd the conq'ring chief no more, 

And echo'd back the solemn sound. 

ther's kingdom with the spirits of just men made perfect. The fol- 
lowing passage (extracted from his works) is inscribed on the tomb 
erected to his memory, by his friend, Lord Petre : for charity of sen- 
timent, I cannot find its parallel in the English language. — 

u Christian is my name, and Catholic my surname. I grant that 
you are a Christian as well as I, and I embrace you as my fellow 
disciple in Jesus; and if you were not a disciple of Jesus, still I 
embrace you as my fellow man" 



106 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

But grief and care, the inroads time has made, 
Have cast o'er all a melancholy shade. 



How once the ship was tempest-driven 

In Biscay's deep and treach'rous bay, 
Without one blessed star from heaven 

To light her on her lonely way ; 
O, then 'twas first he learn'd to pray, 

And own th' Almighty's sov'reign will, 
When He, whom winds and seas obey, 

Stretch'd forth his arm — and all was still. 

How captive in a foreign land, 

Far off, beneath the burning zone, 
Th' abode of men, a savage band, 

Who worshipp'd idols of their own, 
He made the glorious Gospel known, 

With reverential awe they heard, 
And bow'd before Jehovah's Throne, 

And bless'd Salvation's sacred Word. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 10/ 

E'en now, I hasten to my last retreat, 

Too soon this anxious heart shall cease to beat; 



When wounded on the deck he lay, 

And Death stood by with terrors grim, 
And eager monsters watch' d their prey, 

And sea-birds sang his funeral hymn, 
Death had no slavish fears for him — 

Let cowards shrink at ev*ry ball ; 
What if he lost his life or limb, 

His king and country claim'd it all. 

And shall he now neglected lie 

A victim to disease and woe, 
Unhonor'd live, obscurely die, 

He who has honest scars to shew ? 
Ah, no ! ere death shall lay him low 

Britannia shall reward her son 
For having nobly fac'd the foe 

In battles bravely fought and won. 



10S THE MODERN DUXCIAD. 



Some filial tears be o'er my memory shed, 
And those who lovM me living, mourn me dead 
Has pitying heav'n an early fate designed, 
It still shall find me grateful and resign'd ; 
Well-pleased to share at life's eventful close, 
The scorn of all whom most I wishM my foes 
For Dryden never feared with manly rage 
To lash the full-grown vices of the age, 






Now let the wand'rer rest in peace, 

And wear out life's remaining span ; 
Here let the bold inquirer cease 

The will of Providence to scan: 
Dark are the ways of God to man — 

And he who bears misfortune's blast 
Shall bless each wise mysterious plan, 

And anchor safe in port at last. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 109 

But spurning what he thought dishonest fame, 
Called ev'ry rogue and blockhead by his name; 
Thus Shadwell's dulness, Shaftsbury's baser 

crimes 
Are handed down to all succeeding times. 
Pope (who retains pre-eminence, in spite 
Of all that Weston *, all that Bowles could write) 
To conquer vice tjie surest method found, 
He aim'd with care to give the deeper wound; 
And counting titles, wealth, inferior things, 
To Virtue gave what he deny'd to Kings. 



* This miserable grub was employed some years ago to defame 
Pope in the Gentleman's Magazine. 



110 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

And shall the muse*, freeborn, to none a slave; 
Unbrib'd, unbougbt, by any fool or knave, 



* ODE. 

Of all the slaves by fate accurst, 
Sure a Dependant is the worst, 

The dupe of every whim ; 
The negro chain'd on Afric's shore,— 
The meanest wretch that tugs the oar, 

Is blest compar'd to him. 

Heav'n guard me from the ills of life I 
Six froward imps, a scolding wife, 

A coxcomb's vain parade ; 
A doctor's bill, a pleader's bawl, 
A larder lean — but most of all 

From Flattery's fawning trade. 

See Appius, curst with mighty gains, 
How great his pride ! how small his brains ! 
How haughty, cold, and stern ! 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. HI 

A votary oft at freedom's holy shrine, 
Check the just warmth of her satiric line? 



Behold him at a levee wait — 
The sycophant, a tool of state, 
Must bow and cringe in turn. 

Sprung from the lowest dregs of earth, 
He boasts no high patrician birth, 

No great illustrious name ; 
A supple droll, ordain'd for sport, 
He serves to play the fool at court. 

Where C***er does the same. 

Though fortune give me such a share 
Of wealth, that leaves me none to spare ; 

A happier fate is mine ; 
Since providence hath largely sent 
A richer portion in Content, 

And why should I repine ? 



112 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Free let it flow while truth directs its course, 
Strong in its tide, resistless in its force; 



For know, my friend, of human bliss 
Tbe whole economy is this — 

(Experience speaks it true :) 
If little be our worldly part, 
To sit resign' d — and learn the art 

To make that little do. 

Here seated in my calm retreat, 

My milk is pure, my fruits are sweet, 

Wash'd by the early dews; 
How fresh the breeze ! how clear the sky ! 
My faithful handmaids ever nigh, 

Contentment and the muse. 

My house, a crib- — built firm and strong. 
My garden, half an acre long, 
Well planted o'er with flowers ; 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD* 113 

And shame the hoary pimp, the courtly tool, 
The bold-fac'd villain, and the harmless fool. 



And then of books a precious store, 
Of aucient and of modern lore, 
To charm the lonely hours. 

Thanks to the gods for what they send ! 
A cheerful glass to treat a friend, 

Of liquor old and rare ; 
O'er which, borne high on fancy's wing, 
We drink our country and our king, 

Or toast some fav'rite fair. 

And what I hold my greatest pride, 
A partner, in affliction tried, 

O'er life's tempestuous sea; 
Kind, patient, affable, sincere, 
To all who know her virtues, dear — 

But doubly dear to me. 



114 THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 

Shall Britain, spot of heaven's peculiar care, 
Her sons so warlike and her nymphs so fair, 
Whose envied fame is borne on every breeze, 
As waves her flag majestic o'er the seas; 
Shall Britain see her liberties despised, 
Once jealously maintained, and dearly priz'd, 

Thanks to the gods for what they give ! 
Thus independent let me live ; 

Thus independent die ; 
Steal from the world — not quite unknown — 
And may some monumental stone 

Point where my ashes lie. 

Enough, that o'er their father's bier 
My children drop the filial tear, 

By fond affection shed ; 
And (grateful to the poet's mind) 
The humble works I leave behind, 

Embalm my memory dead. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. \\S 

And silently behold her court out-blaze 
The rank obscenity of Charles's days? 
Shall vice make virtue crouch beneath her feet, 
And grey seduction prowl from street to street; 
And sins too black and horrible to name, 
In her unhappy land be thought no shame? 
Shall Scripture, blessed fount of truth divine, 
Which made by holy faith the Saviour mine, 
And taught me through this dark sojourn to see 
Although a wanderer, he died for me, 
By daring infidels and fools at best, 
Be boldly call'd a bubble and a jest*? 

* Such has betn the final opinion of those who have rested on the 
broken reed of abstruse speculation. We may admire the splendid 
talents of the Atheist, the subtil ty of his arguments, and the elo- 
quence of his language ; but how shall our admiration sink into 



116 THE MODERN DUNCIA0. 

And O ! to make her infamy complete, 

Shall truth and justice quit the judgment-seat, 

contempt, to behold those Very acquirements with which God has 
endowed him, most traitorously employed in subverting the noblest 
truths of his revelation, and rendering his omnipotence a matter of 
doubt to his creatures? The life of the Atheist may be dazzling, 
but his death is dark and gloomy ; he is never so happy as when en- 
deavouring to convince the World of the truth of his arguments, 
which, in solitude, he finds it difficult to reconcile to his own con- 
science. In crowds, he is the gay trifling man of the world ; in se- 
clusion, the dark, discontented misanthrope : in health, death is the 
subject of his sport ; in sickness, he comes armed in all his terrors. 
The sun shines in the firmament, but his glories are not for him ; 
the seasons return, but their fruits wither in his sight ; time is lost 
in idle speculations, and eternity shall be spent in bewailing his 
error. The disciples of Voltaire can receive little consolation from 
his death. " I wish," said M. Tronchin, his physician, " that the 
converts of that celebrated writer had been witnesses of his last 
moments." — " I die, abandoned by God and man !" was the awful 
exclamation of that mistaken philosopher. 



. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 117 

And. law, her strong defence in former times, 
Uphold the guilty, and defend their crimes? 
Shall sins like these, which loud for vengeance call, 
And urge a tottering nation to its fall, 

A wicked though feeble blow has been lately aimed at the church 
of England, by the writers of two obscure books called " The Le- 
gend of the Velvet Cushion" and " A New Covering to the Velvet 
Cushion." Happily those persons are as stupid as they are malig- 
nant. Their principles (if objects so mean can be said to have any 
principles) are republican, and tend to the total subversion of the 
most sacred institutions of our country. Of the comfortable doc- 
trines of the ie pious Needham" and her illustrious successor, 
u Mistress Cole," they are no unworthy teachers. I should never 
have noticed these works had I not understood that the enemies of 
the church and constitution considered them as very able replies to 
the Rev. Mr. Cunningham's " Velvet Cushion" I have no doubt 
they are the best that could be got, as they afford a tolerable speci- 
men of the true tabernacle jargon, being vulgar, barbarous, and un- 
intelligible. 



MS THE MODERN DUNCaAD. 

Unbridled reign, and satire's voice be dumb? 
Nor warn a guilty land of wrath to corner 
I will— 

F. Fine words ! lash blockheads to the bone, 
But leave, my friend, pray leave the Great alone; 
The sons of dulness, they were made for sport, 
; But spare, for prudence sake, O spare the Court ! 
My Lord, whose frown keeps modest truth in awe. 
Array 'd in all the terrors of the law, 
Suspends his legal vengeance. 

P. Let it fall ;— 
One smile from virtue makes amends for all; 
A Jefferies 5 * rage can ne'er my terrors raise, 
I scorn his censure as I hate his praise. 

* The following epitaph upon our modern Jefferies must be 
taken in a very iC sober sense ;" 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 119 

Thou (if a voice, still true to virtue's cause. 

Dare give neglected honesty applause,) 

Who, free from private pique> from party zeal, 

Canst like a poet write, a patriot feel, 

Accept my verse; relax thy brow awhile, 

Nor scorn my labours for their homely style. 

If now and then a happier line appear, 

And sound with sweeter music in thine ear; 

A brighter thought, in which thou seest combined 

Sound judgment, fertile fancy, strength of mind; 

Such as may justly claim thy meed of praise, 

And call to mind the bards of former days; 



Here lies (good folks forbear your scoffing) 
A Justice in a leaden coffin : — 
A saving thought ! this very Lead 
Was taken from his worship's Head, 



120 THE MODERN DUXCIAD. 

'Tis all I hope — but far from me be those 

Who flatter G renville's* rhyme, or Dibdin's 

prose; 
Phlegmatic judges, who unmov'd can sit, 
And Arnold's ribaldry mistake for wit; 
O'er Dimond's f puling scenes lament and sigh, 
With Skeffington or Godwin j laugh and cry; 
And O! (what wonders we may live to see) 
Think Coleridge, mighty Shakspeare, rivals thee! 

* Lord George Grenville, author of u Portugal," a Poem. 

f Mr. Diniond is author of " The Hunter of the Alps," "Adrian 
and Orrilla," " The Foundling of the Forest," and several other 
pieces in the German style. 



X Mr. Godwin wrote a ludicrous Tragedy, called u Faulkner," 
which was d — d at Drury-Lane Theatre. 



THE MODERN DUNCIAD. 121 

Let such dull loungers (if they rise so soon) 
At dry rehearsals spend their time till noon ; 
To billiards stroll, or half asleep peruse 
The vague abortions of Fitzgerald's muse; 
Then at Albina's rout, with wits forlorn, 
Wear out the tedious night, and gape till morn. 



THE END 



W. Wilson, Printer, 4, Greville-Street, Hatton-Garden, London, 



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